Snapshots
by Caster
Summary: Snapshots in Nick and David’s life and how they eventually get together. [DavidxNick]
1. Wherein Grissom is Spider Man

A/T: I don't have the slightest clue as to what I'm doing, but isn't that half the fun? This story is about David Hodges 'cause (and I think we can all agree on this) he totally rocks. He plays board games, investigates under sinks, and tussles with evidence-bearing deliverymen. He's attitude personified with a side of snarkiness and he isn't written about near enough.

Also, I did as much research on Hodges as possible and trust me: there's not much out there. Any help would be so appreciated. This takes place about… oh, I'd say 6 months after _Grave Danger. _

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing, I tell you!

Snapshots  
Act 1: Wherein Grissom is Spider Man and Nick Laughs

He was late.

He was _never_ late.

And therein lay the problem.

Despite what many high-and-mighty CSIs may have thought, DNA techs (himself particularly) _could_ use their common sense and deduce a problem when they saw one or, more appropriately, were part of one.

Considering his highly honed skills of grasping the glaringly obvious were in fully functional condition, David was able to come up with the conclusion that he was half an hour late for shift. Combined with the fact that he was usually half an hour _early_, the thoughtful employees of the Las Vegas crime lab had doubtlessly assumed the worst and, more likely than not, were breaking out the celebratory champagne as we speak.

Ten-thirty P.M. found David Hodges walking briskly through the crime lab parking lot, quietly asking himself for what seemed to be the ninety-ninth time: _Why do you bother? _What had he done to deserve this sure-to-have-repercussions-later tardiness anyway? He hadn't performed his usual satanic sacrifice as of late; he hadn't kicked any puppies or stolen any sodas from the machine at work. He was just trying to do his job and the last thing he needed was a boss who was out for his blood.

To understand the entire situation, one must begin at the beginning or, in David's case, Monday evenings. David had two neighbors: the elderly Louise Rainey lived in apartment 2M. She was a perfectly well balanced sixty-six year old grandmother of five who was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had telepathic powers. In apartment 2I lived thirty-five year old Daphne Davis, a concert tubist with a love for rocking out to U2 and reading Agatha Christie mystery novels. Although prolonged exposure to Greg Sanders had made him immune to her choices in music, it was often the tuba concertos that made him wish he lived on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere.

And yet every Monday evening the inevitable would occur: Ms. Rainey would want to e-mail her son. Every Monday evening, she would sit in front of her computer and look at the blank screen for a few minutes, expecting it to boot up by her telepathic powers alone. And every Monday evening at exactly seven o'clock, she would walk the two feet it took to get to David's apartment door and knock persistently because she had, as usual, forgotten the entire computer-booting-and-Internet-navigation process.

Again.

So he would fall out of bed, pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, walk the two feet it took to get to _her_ door, and sit with her, explaining it in excruciating detail while mooching off her delicious leftovers from the fridge.

Again.

But every Monday evening, no matter how many times he explained it or wrote it down, she would knock on his door and ask for help.

_Again._

He often suspected that she could navigate her way around the World Wide Web with the best of them (the new iPod he had found in the bottom kitchen drawer wasn't helping her "I'm just a nice, old, technically challenged lady" defense); however, she lived a life on her own with kids and grandchildren that lived everywhere except Nevada, so he kept his grumbling down to a minimum and who could resist free leftovers anyway? Besides, eight was just about the time when Daphne would break out her tuba-rock, so sleep was pretty much some fanciful memory from when he was still living with his parents.

Considering his shift didn't begin until ten o'clock at night, this dysfunctional yet silently understood arrangement never interfered with his work schedule. Tonight, however, he hadn't counted on falling back asleep or Daphne's flooded bathroom; being the man of the trio, it was automatically assumed he could just "fix it". Their landlord didn't know the wrench from the candlestick when it came to _Clue_; David was, inevitably, the only one vaguely capable of repairing a busted water pipe.

Wasn't it common knowledge that helping people always led to trouble somewhere down the road? Of course it was! Just like 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away' or 'time is money' or 'no one looks good in skinny pants' were the rules of life, so was 'helping other people will never pay off in the end'. Everyone knew this. _He_ knew this. But today was Monday and Mondays were always bad. And it just so happened that he actually cared about the well being of Daphne and the tuba she loved; loved so much, as a matter of fact, that she protected it from water damage by storing it in _his_ apartment until some professionals could do something about the mess in _her_ apartment.

Despite it all, David didn't know what it felt like to have his head torn apart from his shoulders by an angry Gil Grissom, but he was sure to find out tonight. Daphne and Ms. Rainey didn't seem to understand the predicament he was now in; "Mr. Grissom seems like such a nice young man," Ms. Rainey had said. He wanted to tell them both right then that Grissom was usually a stoic boss who lived with riddles, absurdly difficult philosophies, and a love of insects that, quite frankly, frightened those who knew him.

But there were nights when he could be explosive.

And considering the amount of backlog the crime lab had to deal with, David knew it was going to be one of those nights.

David (having successfully crossed a frantic parking lot and lived to tell the tale) paused just in front of the glass doors of the crime lab before he slowly peered in, ignoring the odd looks from the patrolling officers. It looked as if the coast was clear inside; no Gil Grissom as far as the eye could see. Now all he needed was the _Mission: Impossible _theme playing in the background and he'd be good to go.

He quietly opened the door, immediately met by the usual craziness of a midnight at the lab. There were detectives, CSIs, janitors, suspects- the entire works. He paused a moment, listening for any voice that sounded like his boss. When he heard none, he walked quickly through the main lobby, pausing at the end of the hall.

A quick peer down both directions told him it was safe to make a break for it. This felt utterly ridiculous, but there were some things he was willing to do in order to keep his job. If sneaking around the lab was one way to keep said job, then so be it.

He took his usual right turn down the busy corridor. The advantage of mingling with the hectic crowd was that he could blend in with his insane surroundings; the disadvantage was that the entire night shift knew where he was and could lead Grissom down the warpath and towards the place where David would most likely die.

The hallways weren't even his biggest concern. No, it was the break room that was always the trickiest. He'd been working there long enough to know where all the booby traps were placed; the break room was where the world-weary workers of the night shift congregated to narrate their tales and choke down another bad cup of Sara's coffee. (Greg was never inclined to share his personal stash, but David always found it. Honestly, if Greg didn't want it stolen, then he shouldn't hide it behind the refrigerator.) You could see everything from that cursed room, including a man just trying to avoid an early demise.

The thing about working in a building with glass walls, however, was self-explanatory: everyone saw you. And whether you liked it or not, you saw everyone else.

With one quick look, it was plain to see that Grissom was, in fact, speaking to Sara in the break room. Whatever they were talking about was probably deep: Sara's rumored butterfly tattoo or the stack of _Entomologist Monthly _that Grissom kept shoved in the corner. The possibilities were endless, not to mention absurd.

The point was that Grissom's back was turned to the bustling world outside that room. David was in the clear… unless Grissom's spider sense started tingling. David could just imagine the way Grissom would cut off his conversation with Sara, able to sense the presence of an admittedly late lab tech. He'd then turn in a heroic slow-motion moment before throwing himself through the glass wall and capturing said fleeing lab tech with some sticky web that shot out of his wrist. And then (in front of everyone) he'd demand to know why David was half an hour late.

David (who was, in his defense, very tired) continued with this train of thought for about three more feet. And because this was turning to out to be a really bad night, the next few blurry moments were unwanted but not unexpected.

He slipped.

Right there, in the midst of the entire graveyard shift, he slipped in the most comical manner God could punish him with. One leg shot up before he knew what was happening and suddenly he was lying on his back, arms sprawled out, staring up at the ceiling.

Those around him stopped a moment to stare, giggle, or take a picture. One particularly new and sickeningly sweet tech quickly ran up and asked if he was okay. It didn't take long for her to realize that he was perfectly fine if the scathing remark he shot her was any indication.

Having had their fun, the crowd began once more with their duties while he continued to gaze at the ceiling because _ow. _That hurt. His spine might need some realignment and he felt tempted to OD on some Ibuprofen right then and there. He vaguely realized that his back was wet, which obviously meant he had slipped on a liquid substance. In a crime lab, that was never a good thing. It _could_ be water, but there was also a high chance that it was various flesh-eating chemicals or, even worse, urine samples.

Indeed, tonight was not his night.

He was about to try and actually move, hoping that there wasn't any permanent damage (but just enough to get some paid medical leave) that a face appeared in his line of vision, blocking the fascinating view of a stark white ceiling.

"David?"

Greg Sanders. Great. He'd never live this down now.

"Your keen sense of the obvious never ceases to amaze me, Sanders."

"What are you doing on the floor?"

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

Greg quirked a curious eyebrow. "Lying there."

"See? You'll be a CSI three in no time."

Greg shot him annoyed look before rolling his eyes. "You know, a custodian just left. I think he went to go get one of those yellow "wet floor" signs."

Oh. Well. That was just _classic, _wasn't it? "He did, did he? Then let's thank God for his _excellent_ timing."

"Need some help? That fall was probably painful."

"Probably," David agreed. "But how will you ever know if you don't experience it for yourself?"

Greg gave him a crooked grin as he offered his hand and assisted David to his feet. David may have been sarcastic and rather rude, but he and Greg had somehow managed to become what others might refer to as "friends".

"You okay?" Greg asked, giving him a concerned frown. The back of him was soaked, but David managed to straighten his shirt to its previous respectable manner.

David shrugged at the question. "I'm sure the dull ache won't last long. It's the fact that I see two of you that worries me."

Greg grinned at that. "_Worry_? Two of me can only mean double the humor and charm."

"Let's not make anyone sick here, Sanders."

"Aw. Is little Hodgy-wodgy grumpy?"

"I swear they'll never find the crime scene if you call me that again."

Greg laughed for a moment, but his cheerful attitude quickly drained away. He shot an anxious look over David's shoulder before shaking his head.

"Whoa," he muttered, obviously taking in the chaos of the break room and, like most others, feeling slightly frightened by what he saw. "Grissom looks like he's about to blow a gasket. It's gonna be a rough road for whoever gets on his bad side tonight."

David actually cringed at those words. So involved he'd been with his pain-inducing situation that he'd forgotten about an even more life threatening force: an angry boss.

Greg's frown furthered and he furrowed his brows. "Hodges? He looks as if he wants to kill one of us and I've only been here half an hour. I haven't had the _time _to upset him."

"What's he doing?"

"Looks as if he's wrapping up a conversation with Sara."

"And now?"

"Heading towards the door." Greg grinned again. "He moves pretty quick."

David took a breath. He didn't need to turn in order to _feel_ the wrath that would inevitably be cast down upon him. In layman's terms, he was screwed and this situation could only call for only one thing: absurd and drastic measures.

"Sanders, you never saw me."

David only saw Greg's baffled look for a moment before he grabbed his backpack and bolted down the hall as Grissom's angry bellow of "HODGES!" echoed around the lab.

The only thing that was missing was the web that was supposed to shoot out of Grissom's wrist… and maybe the cool part where Grissom bust through the glass.

David could hear the laugher of someone; he didn't recognize the voice at first, but as he hid himself within his lab many hours later, he realized it was the amused laughter of Nick Stokes and he knew the story would be the talk of the CSIs by morning.

_I'm gonna get by  
And just do my time  
Out of step while  
They all get in line._

_The Anthem, _Good Charlotte

TBC.

…

A/T: The basic premise of this multi-chapter story is to write about (in sequential order) snapshots in Nick and David's life and how they eventually get together. I wasn't sure whether to make this epic or quirky; either way, I loved the idea and I hope you do as well. Chapter 3 or 4 might be the time where they start noticing each other; until then, it's my lame attempt to be snarky. Any feedback would be cherished and cared for until the age of 18, when I make it get a job.


	2. Wherein Tubas Are The Devil

A/T: Well, here it is: chapter two. As Karen Walker so eloquently put it: "Hunker down and pray for daylight." And for all you wonderful reviewers, thanks a lot! Especially catlover2x: I've always wanted to be a rock star!

Disclaimer: Not yours. Not mine. Let's get philosophical about it.

Snapshots  
Act 2: Wherein Tubas are the Devil and an SOS is Sent Out

He was certain that the individual who invented the tuba, whomever that may have been, had great dreams for the hulking piece of metal: symphonies or orchestras or maybe even a seat in the Senate. As it stood, however, David would always view it as exactly that: a hulking piece of metal that just _happened_ to make noise when you blew into it.

And, as was his habit, he began muttering the usual and absurdly long string of profanities the moment he heard the first notes of a song. A song played on a tuba. A tuba that was merely a wall away. A wall that was right next to his bedroom. A bedroom he was sleeping in. It was a cruel, vicious cycle that was sure to have long-term effects later in his life; an unfortunate circumstance considering all the other mental problems he had to deal with already.

With a tired groan, he reached out and blindly grabbed at the clothes he knew were balled up somewhere in the one foot radius of his mattress. He didn't need to glance at the clock to know it was already eight in the evening and if there was one thing he and Sanders had in common, it was the need for caffeine. Soda. Coffee. Pills. If it offered that extra buzz, he'd take it with as much graciousness as he possessed.

He half-stumbled through his apartment and made it to his front entryway before stalking the usual two feet it took to get to Daphne's place and began his customary act of steadily knocking until she gave up trying to concentrate and answered the door. He was sure the neighbors could hear the noise and, as usual, they didn't bother him about it. The second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex had a routine; tuba playing chicks, disgruntled lab technicians, and old ladies with iPods were nothing out of the ordinary.

A moment later, the multiple locks he had installed on her door were unbolted and it creaked open. Daphne poked her head out before giving him a big smile, ignoring the fact that anyone else in her position would have shrunk back in absolute horror.

"Hey David! What's up?" He cringed at the bright voice. Anyone who could be so incredibly perky at that time of day should fall off the face of the planet. And if David ruled the world, that's exactly how it would be.

He cocked an eyebrow. "How would you like moving up to the third floor? I hear there's an excellent view of the dumpsters."

She gave him a quizzical look as she opened the door further, allowing him to enter. His reply hadn't exactly answered her question, but she had a feeling it had something to do with it.

"Why would I want to move up there?"

Daphne was one of the nicest people David ever had the displeasure of knowing. Her brunette hair was cut short; never dyed or even highlighted. She stood a good five foot nine and was constantly muttering about how she could stand to lose a few pounds, regardless of the fact David didn't agree. More than anything, she was a garage sale junkie. She'd head out Saturday mornings when the sky was still dark and would return at noon with so much nonessential crap that she couldn't carry it all. That's where David often fit into the picture.

"The cursed behemoth you insist on playing?" he reminded her as he shuffled over to her small kitchen and began rooting around until he found her coffee. "One day it's going to mysteriously disappear."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry if I woke you. I always forget about your weird work schedule."

"An hour is all I ask, Daphne. Hey, _here's_ an interesting fact," he said, turning sarcastically bright, "Did you know that if you start one hour later, _I_ could get an extra hour of sleep? Amazing, but true!"

She rolled her eyes. "Haven't I told you a million times that I work from nine to five? I have orchestra practice at six and then I have to come home and practice from eight to nine if I want to be any good. Besides, if I wait the extra hour, Weldon in 2G will go crying to the landlord again."

David sighed as he found a filter and then switched on the pot. He knew of her dilemma. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"Besides," she continued, giving him a purposefully-cheesy grin, "Where are you gonna get another fabulous neighbor like me, huh? I'm one of a kind. And we'd hardly see each other if I lived upstairs."

David couldn't help the small smile that twisted his lips upward. "What was I thinking? Long distance relationships _never_ work, but just imagine all the great postcards we could send. 'Greetings from ten eight above you.' Sounds picture perfect to me."

Daphne grinned at the thought before flopping down on a barstool, watching as David raided her kitchen with familiar ease. "So you heading off to work tonight?"

"It's the only other place I spend my time."

"Hm. And are there any cute guys that might catch your interest?"

David let out another exasperated sigh as he waited for the coffee to begin brewing. "Is that the only thing you think about?"

"Me? Of course not. It's just there's this guy in my Ancient Philosophy class that I think you'd really hit it off wi-''

"The conversation stops here, Daph."

She gave him a disappointed look but let her daily line of questioning drop. "Fine. You steal my coffee and yet you give me no info about your life. No offense, but you're not much of a neighbor."

"It's the price you have to pay for my agreement in this tuba deal we have going on. By the way, did that plumber ever come fix your water pipe?" he asked as he took the pot and, after locating a clean mug, poured himself a cup or four.

She shrugged at the mere mention of her troubles. "I called my cousin. He's a plumber and he said just to duct tape a sponge around it."

David paused mid-motion, coffee halfway to his lips. There was a moment of silence as he and Daphne looked at one another, her last comment hanging in the air. Finally, he set his mug down gradually, as if unsure to even speak. Surely –_surely_- she had the better judgment _not_ to do what he suspected she already had done. And if you didn't understand the last sentence, read it again. It makes sense after a while.

"Daphne," he slowly began, hoping her right-brain mind could grasp his left-brain words. "Did you take off the plastic sleeve I put on that pipe yesterday?"

She gave him a puzzled look. "I took it off so I could put the sponge on. It's what he said to do."

"Hm. And what sort of business does your cousin run? Is it legitimate? Insured? Funded by mob money?"

An openly baffled stare was sent his direction; David let out a groan before allowing his head to fall. The woman was admittedly one of the most brilliant people in the world when it came to the books. She could quote Aristotle and knew centuries of philosophy by heart. You want a fight? Putting her and Grissom in an enclosed space for an extended period of time would be disastrous; the intellectual war that would surely ensue would leave them both exhausted.

Then again, exhaustion _was_ a result of thinking too much. It was no wonder Greg had so much energy.

"Well, I… I just did what he said." And yet, despite her brilliance, she didn't know up from down when it came to mechanics.

As if God was listening, a calamity was heard in the bathroom the moment the last word left her mouth. David and Daphne wasted only a moment before he quickly made his way to the hall, dismayed as water began to flow from underneath the closed bathroom door. Upon opening the door, it was plain to see that the sponge and piece of duct tape had finally lost the battle against the water pressure; the floor was soaked and water was spraying everywhere.

Again.

"Daphne, as a caring neighbor, I suppose now would be the time to tell you that duct tape doesn't work very long when it's wet."

It looked like another night of her tuba taking up residence on his couch.

…

Despite Daphne's bathroom dilemma, David wasn't forced to flee down any random crime lab hall that evening. No, he could walk proudly without fear of Grissom in a spidey-suit, although he made sure not to step on any part of the floor that looked even slightly slippery.

"David!"

Jacqui's voice carried through various corridors even as the woman sprinted towards him, moving as if an ax murderer were on her tail. Or, even worse, Ecklie.

"D-David," she panted, bending and resting her hands against her knees once she caught up with him. He turned and gave her a peculiar look. It wasn't often that women would actually run to catch him; if anything, they were usually dashing towards the opposite direction.

He didn't bother to ask what the matter was. He'd find out eventually, whether he cared to or not.

"Grissom sent out an SOS call to…" Another desperate gasp for air. "…anyone who can respond."

"Speak to me, Jacq."

"You're the only tech… who can make it. Archie's… not really qualified and the- the rest of us have too much backlog." Pant. Wheeze.

"They want a technician at a crime scene?" His voice was dry, as if he didn't quite believe her words. Was she too exhausted to understand that technicians were rarely called out? Did she really understand the SOS? Or was she just high?

"Anyone who can lift a print," she replied, finally looking up from her stooped position and beginning to regain her normal breathing behavior. "Think you can…" Huff. "…make it?"

The options presenting themselves here were endless. The difficult part was choosing which way he wanted to piss her off. "I can make it. The question is what's in it for me?"

"How about keeping your job?"

David made a show of seriously considering the answer. "Hm. Tempting, but not good enough. I'm thinking an expensive steak dinner."

"Chinese take-out is my highest offer."

"China Doll?"

"That place wants four ninety-nine for an egg roll!"

"It's ridiculously expensive Asian food or no dice."

"You disgust me."

"Compliment taken."

"Fine. China Doll it is."

"Wearing the turban?"

"I'm not wearing that stupid hat. Don't push your luck here, buster."

"I could at least say I tried."

"So you're going?"

"Even if my con for free food hadn't been successful."

"What is this? Maturity? David Hodges, are you becoming tolerable on me?"

Ouch and burn. He had never been so insulted.

Before he left for the scene, he took Jacqui's bottle of ice tea and poured it down the drain, calmly refilling it with Sara's day-old coffee.

After all, the term "mature" was a pretty strong one.

…

There were blue and red lights flashing brightly in the night. There were car motors running and yellow police tape waving in the wind, squaring off a crime scene like some sort of fragile gate. There were voices and fog and chaos and even the barking of K-9 dogs, but mostly there was darkness and David had never felt so unfit to his surroundings.

It was such a strange place for him to be and, as expected, he hated its unfamiliarity.

He could only remember one other time before this that Grissom had called him to a scene. And when Grissom called, that meant there was either a lot of evidence or a lot of bodies and David had the sinking feeling that it was going to be both.

With a small sigh, he approached the taped off scene. It was an old abandoned restaurant where the realtor had found nineteen bodies piled on top of each other like logs in the freezer. The building was falling apart, that was for certain; a section of the roof was caving in and some of the floor was missing. The windows were gray and the door hinges were rusted, almost black. There were various graffiti markings and beer bottles; cigarette butts and papers, even old menus and pictures from when the restaurant had been all the rage in the 1950's.

With one swift look around, he surmised the situation: duck beneath the tape and get to work while trying to fight off the inevitable camera crews and well meaning but clumsy officers who really weren't sure what was going on.

And he was about to, mind you. He'd rather have been in his lab doing what he did best, of course, but the rumor was that fresh air was pretty good for you. Besides, he hadn't been to this part of town in almost a year. If anything, it was a refresher course on how to read a map.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you can't enter here."

David looked up to see what appeared to be an officer at first glance; a moment of observation, however, quickly told him it wasn't just _any_ officer- it was Sheriff Atwater in obnoxious TechniColor 3-D.

And here he thought tonight couldn't get any better.

"I apologize," he said, even though it was clear the only thing he was sorry about was having to meet the sheriff in the first place. "I'm David Hodges, trace technician for Gil Grissom. I was called to this scene."

The sheriff gave him a patronizing look before asking, "You were, were you?"

What the hell sort of question was _that_? More frightening than threats of nuclear war or Greg Sanders for President were the idiots in charge of delicate situations. Of _course_ he was called to the scene; he had more important things to do than try and sneak onto one.

David took a deep breath. This would obviously require tact and finesse. He didn't even know what those words _meant _anymore.

"Yes, I was," he replied, trying to keep the heavy amount of venom from dripping off his words. "Is there some sort of secret handshake or do I just need to pay the cover charge?"

Sheriff Atwater stood a bit taller, giving David a cool look. How _dare_ a lowly tech put him in his place! How _dare_ someone speak their mind! And how _dare _someone point out that half the people on this scene had no idea what the hell they were doing there! A counter-comeback to David's remark would require more than just a shiny badge; it would require brains. David doubted the man had it in him.

"I've never known lab technicians to get called to scenes."

"You learn something new everyday."

Spark. Zing. Sizzle. _David Hodges Versus The Sheriff _was officially in theaters near you. "I'll need some sort of identification."

David sighed and set down his supplies. Fort Knox had been known to have easier access. Plus, the gold that was stored there was bound to have more intelligence than this idiot. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and sliding out his laboratory I.D. card. He impatiently handed it over.

"All those letters at the top? That spells out my name. Those numbers are my date of birth. And in case you can't grasp the concept, there's a picture on the left."

"You, sir, are really starting to piss me off."

"Hey, what do you know? We both have something in common."

"You're a smart-ass. Access to this scene is denied."

"Listen, Gil Grissom paged me himself and said he needed some trace analysts. That's my job. That's why I'm here. How long are we going to have to do this song and dance before I can get on the scene?"

"You deaf? I said access to this scene is _denied_."

"What the hell do you mean I'm not getting on the-''

"Something going on here, fellas?"

The voice was unmistakable. No one had a Texan accent around these parts save one Nick Stokes. And for being in a one mile radius of a make-shift graveyard, his spirits still seemed rather uppity, if you'd excuse the disgusting use of the term.

"Yeah," snapped David. "Starsky over here is trying to deny me the scene."

It looked as if someone had just informed Nick that Grissom cross-dressed on weekends. He shot David a _I can't believe you just said that _look before giving the sheriff the most charming smile he could muster.

"Evening, Sheriff. Not to rush things, but this is definitely our tech. Grissom really needs him in there."

Sheriff Atwater shot David a disdainful look. "He's got a smart mouth on him. It's a mouth that's gonna get him in trouble one day. Last time I checked, techs are supposed to be back in the lab, dealing with the backlog instead of contaminating the scene."

Jacqui and Archie and Bobby _were_ in the lab, handling the numerous cold cases. Plus, if there was one thing techs did, it was stick together. Nick flicked his gaze over to David momentarily, the beginnings of true anger forming in the technician's eyes.

"You think I don't _know_ how much backlog there is? If you'd just get off your-''

"Sheriff, sir," Nick said quickly, cutting David off mid-sentence. "We really need everyone we can get in that restaurant. Is he in the clear?"

The sheriff paused a moment, turning to give David a cool look before looking back at the Texan. He nodded a moment later and moved out of David's away, allowing him to duck beneath the tape and finally walk upon the hallowed ground.

"You think your mouth can get any bigger, Hodges?" Nick whispered as they made their way towards the kitchen, their backs towards the watchful eyes of Atwater. Nick spoke in low tones as they quickly wove in between small clusters of investigators and detectives.

"Is that a dare?"

Nick rolled his eyes before stopping and turning to face the other man. "You gotta listen to me. First rule of being part of a scene is _not_ to piss off the sheriff, got it?"

"The man's an idiot. I can't believe people actually voted for him."

"I know he is. Still, he's the guy in charge and if you want to keep your job, I suggest you ignore all your natural tendencies and be _normal_."

"So what are you trying to say?"

Nick leaned closer, keeping his words low and David felt his heart momentarily make itself at home in his throat. This was definitely a violation of personal space. Way too close for comfort, folks. Still, he resisted the urge to step back.

"What I'm saying is _shut up_ and do your job before you get fired."

David broke and took a step back. "Gladly. It's unfortunate that no one's letting me do it."

Nick didn't reply. Instead, he led them to a pair of double doors where most of the action seemed to be taking place.

"Listen, I know you don't want to be babied or anything," Nick muttered, not meeting David's eyes, "But in case you can't handle it then it's nothing to be ashamed of. If you don't want-"

"I can handle it," David interrupted.

Nick held up his hands in a non-confrontational manner. "I'm just saying," he continued, "That this is really…"

"Heart breaking?"

Nick gave him an uncomfortable smile. "Yeah."

"The story around the lab is that I've got no heart, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Nick sighed at David's response before opening the doors.

If it weren't for the nineteen dead women that were laid out on the floor, it was actually a pretty nice kitchen.

He could feel Nick Stokes' eyes bore into him, gauging for a reaction. David wasn't sure what Nick was looking for. Horror? Pain? The truth of the matter was they he didn't have many reactions; this was wretched, but then again, this was Las Vegas.

He started with body number one.

_Oh, another social casualty  
Score one more for me  
How could I forget?  
Mama said, "Think before speaking"  
No filter in my head  
Oh, what's a boy to do?  
I guess he better find one soon_.

_My Stupid Mouth_, John Mayer

A/T: Here's to hoping you like the way this story is going. I also hope you like the neighbors... they'll be making more than one appearance. Thanks for all your love and support! And suggestions would be so very much appreciated.


	3. Wherein Banana Cake is Involved

A/T: Eek! It's chapter 3! Just to let you know: Nick/Greg is still #1 and nothing can change that. It's common knowledge that they're universally lovable and even the most straight-laced conservative secretly wants them together on the show. However, there's this Hodges monkey on my back and it just won't leave me alone.

Also, my eyes are dead. Any mistakes you see here are mine (and no, you can't have them.) I just can't read through this again!

Disclaimer: The only benefit I get from writing _CSI _fanfiction is the loving comments people leave. I'm not making any money. You lawyers can sleep easy tonight.

Dedication: For nigaishin, kahlualeia and quasilogical because they're wonderful supporters and friends. However, this chapter really goes out to catlover2x. Without her, this chapter would have floundered like a fish out of water and then died a slow and agonizing death. Thank her when you see her. -grins-

Snapshots  
Act 3: Wherein Banana Cake is Involved and Nick Defends Macaroni and Cheese

"And then you know what happened?"

Imagine being stuck at a table with a Trekkie A/V tech during your one free lunch hour.

Imagine being unable to escape the absurdly in-depth description of _Star Scape: the Next Galactica Enterprise_.

In David Hodges's mind, this qualified as cruel and unusual punishment. Quite frankly, the small bottle of cyanide back in the lab was beginning to look more and more tempting every passing second.

"No," David muttered, rolling his eyes and taking another swallow of his Dasani. "But I'm sure you're going to tell me in fascinating detail."

"How right you are. So Spock-''

"Isn't he the one with the pointy ears?"

Archie paused at this generalization and shot David an offended look. There was a strained silence in the conversation as Archie continued to stare, debating whether or not to kill David where he stood or wait until there weren't any witnesses around.

"If you must," the other man muttered, truly unsettled at David's lack of knowledge regarding space shows. "So Spock tells Kirk-''

"The guy who talks funny?"

"He just has a unique way of acting, okay?" Archie replied, a note of irritation coloring his voice. It was common knowledge that Archie was particularly protective of Captain Kirk's dignity; in other words, you didn't insult the Captain and live to tell the tale. "He's definitely become more comfortable since the first episodes. Anyway, Spock tells Kirk that Talos Four-''

"Talos Four? Sounds like the bad sequel to an already bad video game."

"Are you going to let me finish?"

"Archie, I'm going to let you in on a little secret," David said, his voice lowering to a conspiracy-like whisper. Archie Johnson gave him an odd look before leaning across the table, attempting to hear the sarcastic comment that was inevitably going to tumble out of David's mouth.

"I've never been so bored in my life. The International Chess Society has more breathtaking matches than whatever space show you're talking about."

"You didn't just diss Star Trek, did you?"

"Diss? Of course not. I merely insulted."

"Boys, boys," Jacqui cut in, their banter finally breaking her concentration away from the latest issue of _People_. "Let's not let it get ugly here. We're all adults. If we can sit through your daily complaining about the state of the world, we can make it through one dismal hour of Star Trek."

"_Dismal_?" Archie asked incredulously as they rose from their seats, the end of their lunch hour inching miraculously closer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're lucky to have caring individuals like ourselves who'll sit through a play-by-play review of Star Wars."

"Star _Trek._"

David shrugged. "Same thing. Aliens destroying the planet, spaceships blowing up, etcetera. If you've seen one episode, you've seen them all."

"You just don't understand the delicate universe of the Star Trek series," Archie groused.

"Oh, I understand," David replied. "I understand there are millions of nerds all over the world that jump at the words "star" and "trek" in any given order. I also understand said millions of nerds are spending millions of hours watching a million spin-offs of the same show. The fact that you can speak Klingon says a lot about you and here's a news flash," he continued, throwing away his trash and turning to the other man, "It's not giving you the best reputation."

"We have reputations?" Archie asked, genuine surprise in his voice. David couldn't blame him on this one. The fact that people acknowledged their existence enough to give them reputations of any sort was a shock in itself.

"Arch," David said evenly, "Leslie at the front desk spit out her Coke when you asked her out to dinner."

Archie sighed at the humiliating memory before shooting David a dark look.

"So I guess if _my_ reputation is nerdy and Trekkish, then _you're_-''

"That's a line I wouldn't cross."

"-known as the sarcastic tightwad."

"That's _bitter_ sarcastic tightwad to you," David finished.

"Y'know," Jacqui muttered, sighing at their conversation, "I can't believe you two are my best friends. God, what am I going to say at my high school reunion? That my only social contacts are a Trekkie and a severely sarcastic middle-aged DNA technician?"

"It's not like we're proud of it," David replied. "And you had better turn that middle-aged finger around. What are you, thirty-five?"

"Have I taught you nothing? _Never_ ask a woman her age."

"Excellent advice. I doubt I could count that high anyway."

"_David_!" David jumped, barely avoiding her fist and it's path to his head.

Archie laughed as he followed the small scuffle down the hall. It was scary that they were best friends; the truly frightening part was that they genuinely (even if they dared not admit it) enjoyed each other's company.

And Archie was absolutely _certain_ that Jacqui's second attempted assault on David's well-being was one of love and endearment.

"Just don't hurt him too badly, Jacq!"

"Thanks for that, Arch!" David said as he narrowly escaped yet another smack.

The trio scuttled through the hallways towards their respective rooms of expertise, an easy banter flowing between them. David grabbed the doorknob to his lab, his arm ready to rip the door open and thus avoid the assassination efforts of an angered woman when he stopped dead in his tracks, peering through the glass windows, watching as Nick Stokes talked to the sink.

In his experience, conversations with sinks only went so far. To be honest, sinks weren't that talkative and anyone who attempted to engage in a conversation with a household appliance often spent most of his or her time trying to keep the conversation going. Despite his strong dislike for people in general, human beings _were_ usually easier to talk to. Sinks just happened to be more intelligent.

There was a sink in the corner of almost every lab; it was used to wash chemicals away from the skin and clean tools. And Nick was practically growling at it, peering down the drain, searching for something he'd obviously lost.

Archie and Jacqui finally caught up. Jacqui was about to give David a pounding he wasn't soon to forget when she followed his gaze and paused mid-attack. The three of them made an odd picture: staring through the windows, watching a clueless Texan as he fiddled with the sink drain and then began trying to unscrew the pipes with what appeared to be a monkey wrench.

"What's he doing?" Jacqui whispered. The three continued to look in, each unconsciously tilting their head to the right in a simultaneous motion.

"Ah," Archie began, his voice taking on a faux English accent, parodying one of the numerous animal shows commonly played on television. "Unbeknownst to the CSI specimen, the technicians continue to observe in wonder, taking in how the CSI is absorbed in the strange object known as the sink. His hand has now dipped into the drain, searching for his prey. Upon realizing that his plan for obtaining this mysterious object won't be successful, he begins to search for another means of capturing his intended target."

Nick was, in fact, looking for something. He searched the drawers and tables until he found a pen; he then returned to the sink, trying to drag something up through the pipe and not succeeding. Archie continued with the narration; Jacqui began giggling uncontrollably and David had to admit that Archie could be pretty humorous at times.

Nick turned again and rubbed his left eye offhandedly, looking for some other tool. He began another hunt, this time noticing his three observers from the corner of his eye and glanced up, giving each one an odd look as an embarrassed blush began tinting the tips of his ears. Jacqui let out a light laugh and Archie merely chuckled, waving at him through the glass.

"He thinks we're idiots," Archie muttered through his smile.

"He's not totally wrong," David replied, opening the door to his beloved lab.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Archie asked indignantly. "At least I'm not trying to meddle with sink drains via pen!"

"No, but you speak Klingon."

Jacqui (obviously having been humiliated enough by her two male counterparts for one night) grabbed Archie's elbow and continued down the hall. "No wonder our reputations suck," she muttered as Archie followed, still protesting. David watched for a moment before turning to the door, swinging it open and walking in.

"How long were you guys out there?" Nick asked, trying not to look too humiliated once the door fully closed and the duo had clambered down the hall, leaving Nick and David in peace.

"I'd say long enough to know that we're the only sane ones around here anymore." David motioned towards the sink with a nod of his head. "So what'd you lose anyway?"

"Nothing."

"Oh Stokes, let's not be shy. Was it illegally copied keys to Grissom's office? A ransom note? A picture of a naked female co-worker?" David asked, leaning against the counter opposite of the sink and crossing his arms, giving Nick an amused look.

Nick rolled his eyes. "None of the above, final answer."

"Unless your new hobby is exploring the insides of sinks, you dropped something in there."

"I'll take care of it."

David resisted the sigh that built in his chest. Typical alpha male: they'd rather fail miserably than ask for help.

"Sure you will."

"Fine. It was my contact lens."

"You lost your contact lens down the sink?"

"Did I stutter?"

"I'm not sure. I think you just said you lost a contact lens."

"Shut up, Hodges."

"Stunning comeback."

"You're really starting to piss me off."

"It's all in a days work. And no offense, but a blind CSI doesn't exactly inspire the greatest confidence in the citizens of Las Vegas."

"I can't hear you."

"More like you can't _see_ me."

"Is there a point to this?"

"The point is that you might need some help."

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Guilty as charged." There was a pause before David spoke again. "I know a little about plumbing. I could help for a minimum fee."

"Help? I wasn't aware you knew the meaning of the word."

"It's comments like those that get you off my Christmas list."

Nick would have responded, but David calmly left the room without waiting for the other man's reply. Nick sighed and found a barstool. He had been fighting with the sink for almost fifteen minutes and had gotten nowhere. The fact that Hodges had caught him didn't make the predicament any brighter; he knew now that he would never, ever live this down. Ever. Damn it.

A few minutes later, David returned with a bucket containing two pipe wrenches, scissors, some rags and (if Nick's good eye wasn't deceiving him) a pair of panty hose.

"Hodges," he slowly began, trying to grasp the reality of the situation, "those are pantyhose."

"Your observational skills never cease to amaze me, Stokes."

"I'll assume they're not yours."

"I thought CSIs never assumed anything."

Nick paused for a moment, as if seriously considering the remark. David rolled his eyes.

"They're Jacqui's," he supplied.

"And what, she just took them off in the middle of the lab?"

David shrugged as he made his way over to the sink and set the bucket under the pipes. "She keeps an extra pair in her locker just in case."

"Hodges, did you break into her _locker_?"

"I'm sure she would have gladly sacrificed them had she realized that one of our best CSIs was unable to see the broad side of a barn."

"She's going to kill you."

"I should be so lucky. She's going to make me wear that God forsaken turban monstrosity instead."

Within a matter of minutes, David removed the trap and placed it on a rag. He proceeded to cut the foot off one leg of the pantyhose and slipped it onto one end of the trap. He secured it in place with a rubber band he took off his wrist. David took the pantyhose-clad trap to a different sink, and negligently turned the faucet to a trickle, running water through the trap for several minutes. After shutting off the water, he removed the pantyhose and looked at the toe where small debris had collected. Nonchalantly, he extracted the tiny contact lens from the hair and held out his hand.

"I suggest you clean this unless you want to go blind in your other eye, but that's just me talking."

Nick was silent as David dropped the small item onto his palm. With anyone else, Nick would have given them a genuine "thank-you" and even offered to buy them breakfast. However, Hodges wasn't just anyone. Situations like these had to be handled delicately.

Nick shifted uncomfortably at David's expecting silence, unwilling to say that insignificant little phrase: _thank you. _

"You seem to know your way around plumbing," Nick muttered, wincing at his own words. They were, after all, pathetically weak.

David paused a moment before asking, "That's the thanks I get?"

"Please don't make me say it."

"Oh, but I think I will. Unless you decide on the other option."

"There's a second choice?"

"Either I get a whole hearted thanks or _you_ can suffer the wrath of Jacqui and the turban."

"You wouldn't make a CSI wear that thing."

"You underestimate me. One day you're going to have a lunch break or a day off and I'll be there, turban in hand. The question is how much pride and dignity you're willing to risk when all I want is a little…" (David took the moment to insert a dramatic pause. Nick shot him a cool glare.) "Tiny…" (Another pause. Another glare. Nick was getting the hint.) "Thank you."

Nick was silent. He was secretly impressed with Hodges's quick save and his ability to be somewhat civil, a trait he must have picked up from Jacqui, Mia, and Archie.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Thank you for rescuing my contact and risking your life by breaking into Jacqui's locker."

"You make it sound so illegal."

Nick couldn't help but laugh.

…

An hour and a half later, David felt the usual routine settle in. The CSIs were at scenes, particularly the restaurant from the night before. Archie's eyes were glued to a monitor of some sort and Jacqui was flipping through a recent issue of _Lifetime _while her fingerprints ran.

That's when David's cell phone rang.

"Hodges," he answered automatically.

"David, dear?"

David froze, a cold horror beginning to creep from his ears to his toes. The voice on the other end was that of Ms. Rainey. A nice old lady was actually calling him in a place where a co-worker could walk in any second and ask for results.

Should such a crisis occur, he would be forced to resort to drastic measures. And if listening to Archie speak Klingon to a sink whilst avoiding Jacqui's assassination attempts was what it took, he'd do it. Anything –_anything_- to make the employees of the Las Vegas Crime Lab forget the fact that an old lady had been involved at all.

He checked his watch. "Ms. Rainey, it's one in the morning. What are you doing awake?"

"Well, Daphne mentioned just a few days ago that she thought your birthday was around this time of year. I called your boss –the nicest man, by the way- and he seems to think your birthday's on Thursday. Is this true?"

He could lie, but then her telepathic powers would detect his fib and he would be in knee deep. He sighed and closed his eyes, submitting to the inevitable.

"Yes."

"Oh, how wonderful! How old will you be, dear?"

He hated that question. "Thirty-nine, ma'am."

"That's not old at all, now is it? Well, I'll be sure to bake you a cake."

"Ms. Rainey, there's really no need-''

"Now don't be silly. What kind do you like?"

David sucked in a deep breath. This would require more tact than he had ever been able to manage.

He took a quick look around. He needed a private place to converse; considering the walls were made of glass and CSIs could read lips, he needed it fast.

Two minutes later, he found himself huddled in the corner of the men's restrooms. There was a line of five stalls and then the sinks were hidden in the corner; he didn't check, but he was pretty sure that the restrooms were empty. After all, he, Archie, Bobby, and Ronnie were the only males that remained in the lab this time of night anyway. For once, he firmly believed that he could have a private conversation.

"Ms. Rainey, please don't do anything special. I really-''

"Oh, but I want to. You've been such a nice neighbor to have. I just want to show my appreciation."

"You can show your appreciation by not-''

"Do you like bananas? I make a lovely banana cake."

"Bananas?" he asked, weakly. What the hell did it matter? The woman would pester and pester until he caved in. It was all a matter of timing and willpower; no man on Earth had it in him to deter the old woman when she wanted to bake a cake.

"Or are you allergic?"

Grissom would die for this. Somewhere, somehow, David would get his revenge. He didn't care if it happened three decades from now; Grissom holed up in a nursing home and David would come hobbling in. Grissom, in his senile last days, wouldn't remember David's face, but David would remember his need for vengeance.

"_Who are you?" Grissom would ask, his dentures falling out halfway as he spoke._

"_I'm David Hodges. I'm here to get my revenge." _

"_You're who?" _

"_You sold out my birthday to my telepathic neighbor! Die, scum!" (It would go downhill from there, but that was the basic idea._)

"David?"

David jumped at the voice on the other end of the line. He had been spacing out again. "Banana sounds great."

"Lovely! Thursday then?"

When else would it be? He sighed, wishing for a normal life. "Thursday," he confirmed.

"How exciting! I'll be sure to tell Daphne."

"Tell Daphne? Ms. Rainey, I really don't think-''

David's protest was met with a dead phone line. He paused a moment, giving the cell a good glare before snapping it shut. It wasn't the phone's fault, but if Thomas Bell were alive today, David would give him a piece of his mind.

He was about to make an exit when he heard nothing. That's right, folks: nothing. He stopped. There was no noise, but the atmosphere had somehow changed, signaling the presence of another person he'd been unaware of. Before he knew it, he was walking over to the line of hidden sinks. Why hadn't he checked again? He swore that if Sanders were there, laughing about the conversation, he'd chop him up into tiny pieces and flush him down the toilet.

But it wasn't Greg he found giggling over a faucet. It wasn't Warrick amused about the banana cake. It wasn't even Grissom trying to psychoanalyze the odd relationships he had with women.

It was Nick. Crying.

"Nick?"

He hadn't meant to sound concerned, but it came out that way. Either way, it was clear that Nick didn't want to be seen. The Texan turned his face from David's line of sight.

"What is it, Hodges?"

"Dropped another contact down the sink? You know, if you want to spend time with me, I like candlelight dinners and walks on the beach as well."

Nick let out an irritated "Shut up," and it was then that David realized he wasn't upset… he was in _pain._

He couldn't believe he was going to ask this, but what other option did he have? Unlike his kindly neighbor, he wasn't given the gift of the telepathic. He took a breath. The words sounded foreign on his tongue. Hell, he was surprised he didn't start melting into a puddle after he spoke.

"Are you feeling well?"

"Yeah. It's just my eye."

_Just my eye._ Grown Texan men didn't cry because their eye hurt; they cried when their best bull died or when someone questioned their masculinity. Seeing as Nick didn't own cattle and his masculinity was rarely debated, David's deductive reasoning told him there had to be some other explanation.

He began running all possibilities through his head, quickly observing Nick's body language. He was rubbing his left eye, grunting and trying to wash it with water.

Oh.

Even David (in his most uncaring state) had to cringe. If Nick occasionally wore glasses, he had to wear contacts the rest of the time. David remembered how his sister sometimes hurt her eye wearing contacts, convinced that the absence of bulky glasses made her more attractive. David never told her that maybe washing her hair and scraping off the many layers of dirt from her skin would have done the trick; then again, he hadn't had a death wish either.

"Let me see," David said, walking over. Nick shook his head.

"Hodges, it's-''

"Shut up, Stokes," David interrupted, turning Nick to face him and taking a quick look into Nick's eyes. His left eye was slightly red and tearing up.

"Hodges, what the hell are you doing?"

"Scratched cornea."

"What?"

"What kind of contacts do you wear?"

A confused and pained pause: "Gas permeable," Nick replied, reaching up to scratch his irritated eye. David shook his head at the action and when Nick paid no heed, grabbed his wrist to cease his movement.

"Don't touch it," he ordered. "You'll make it worse. You need to get to a hospital."

"Hodges, I'm in the middle of sh-''

"Trust me, you aren't going to get anything done tonight."

"Hodges…"

"You're going to be miserable, Stokes. Go to the hospital."

When Nick didn't respond, David rolled his eyes. Had he started speaking Greek and not realized it? Were the words "go", "to", "the", and "hospital" so hard to grasp?

He shook his head and led Nick out of the restroom before grabbing his car keys.

…

"Mister Stokes, it was a good thing your friend recognized the problem," Doctor Price said, giving them a cheesy smile from above his clipboard. David gagged internally; it was as if a bad car salesman woke up one morning and decided to become a medical professional. "You've indeed scratched your cornea. Has this happened before?"

Nick look tired, rumpled, and in pain. Quite frankly, one glance made David realize he had seen drowned rats with more spirit.

"I don't think so."

"Then this'll be quite the experience. First of all, I have a prescription for the pain. Second, you'll need an eye patch for at least two days, and I want you wearing glasses for at least a week. Do you and your friend work together?"

Nick cleared his throat. David could tell that Nick wasn't too keen on the doctor's excessive use of the word "friend."

"Yeah, we do."

"Good. I suggest he drive you for the next two days as well, although taking a few days leave would be more preferable."

"I'll keep that in mind."

David knew that Nick wouldn't keep it in mind; he'd be bursting to get back in the field by tomorrow night. Doctor Price gave them another toothy grin. David's ability to keep his lunch down was quickly beginning to fail him.

"Other than that, you're good to go. Make sure your friend drives you, you hear? Oh, and take one of my cards."

David wondered what it would take to kill the man if he used the "f" word one more time.

…

Two words for you: bachelor pad.

That's what Nick lived in; then again, what had David been expecting? It's not like Nick kept a cleaning lady stashed away somewhere and if he did, she wasn't doing much of a job with the housework.

As Nick held the door open for him, David tried to keep his mouth shut. One glance at the bookshelf told him that Nick was too involved with his job; it was shelves of criminalistic guides and case reviews. One glance at the movies told him Nick watched too much Discovery Channel; it was rows of animal documentaries and home videos. One glance in the kitchen told him he had a steady diet of artificial colors and flavorings; if it wasn't in a box or can, he didn't seem to eat it.

"Go ahead and say whatever's on your mind," Nick said, locking the door behind him. "I know there's _something_ insulting you're trying to keep quiet."

David cleared his throat. "It's a nice place. The pile of laundry in the corner gives it that warm, homey feel."

"Now that you've got it out of your system, you aren't allowed to talk 'til you're back outside."

Nick kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, sighing as he stretched out. As he shifted, the pills in his jacket pocket clinked against each other, reminding David of their existence.

"Aren't you going to take those?"

"The pills?"

David didn't honor the smart-ass question with a reply; instead, he made his way towards the kitchen. There were a few moments of silence as Nick heard the other man rummaging through the cabinets, no doubt looking for a drinking glass and probably internally snickering at the unusually messy state of the dishes and refrigerator. Most the time, Nick kept a tidy house with minimum clutter, but the past few weeks hadn't given him enough hours in the day to work, sleep, _and_ clean, so he was forced to choose two out of three.

It was bizarre enough having David Hodges take him to the hospital. It was even stranger to have him in his home, but the Weird Scale hit a perfect ten when the technician's horrified voice asked, "You eat _Easy Mac?_"

It wasn't what Nick had been expecting Hodges to say. He was mentally preparing himself to dodge the many sarcastic barbs that were sure to come flying his way, but the question was filled with such absolute alarm that Nick had to take a moment to remember what he was protecting himself from anyway.

David came from the kitchen, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small box of Easy Mac in the other.

He handed a somewhat confused Nick the glass, motioning for him to take some pills before holding up the yellow box.

"I get that you're a bachelor. I get that you don't cook. But _this_-'' he said, taking a moment to make absolutely certain that Nick could see the box, "Is nauseating. Cheese isn't supposed to be powder, Stokes. Flour is powder. Baking soda is powder. But cheese is a solid block of dairy goodness, Nick. My seven year old niece _lives_ on this stuff."

"So what are you, a gourmet cook or something?"

"Call it what you like, but this is dog crap marketed as edible food. I can't believe you eat it."

"It's almost as if you care."

"'Almost' being the operative word."

"I like mac and cheese," Nick said, defending his food choices.

"Okay, sure. I won't blame you for that, but this isn't mac and cheese. It's a _mockery_ of mac and cheese. It tastes disgusting."

"I think it tastes fine."

David merely stared before shaking his head and taking back the water glass, Nick having taken his pills. He held up the box again. "When your craving for this stuff becomes insatiable, you can dig it out of the trash can."

"What, you're throwing away my food?"

"Throwing away? Of course not. I'm liberating you from the revolting sustenance choices you obviously aren't capable of making for yourself."

"I can't believe you're throwing away my food."

"Are you deaf as well as blind? _Not_ throwing away," he reiterated. "Merely discriminating your palate."

"I paid for that and you're throwing it away?"

David let out an exasperated sigh before turning to head back towards the kitchen.

"Hey, Hodges?"

David turned expectantly, waiting for Nick to fight him about the food and pills and possibly even the hospital visit. Instead, Nick gave him a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders. "Thanks. You know, for everything. The drive and all."

"Wow. Is this what a college frat thanks is like? I think all we're missing is the awkward hug and communicative grunts that roughly translate to 'I'm too insecure in my masculinity to properly express gratitude.'"

There was a pause as Nick, even in his pain, gazed up from his seat on the couch to give David a long stare. Finally, he shook his head and laughed a little. "You're honestly unbelievable. Where do you get this stuff?"

"Thirty-eight years of observing the stereotypical American labels gives you time to reflect."

"You make everything a lot harder than it has to be, Hodges."

"Would it be any fun if I didn't?"

"I see you're one of those guys who have to create excitement in their lives."

"Hm. Driving you to the hospital is the highlight of my month."

"You're really weird."

"Your appreciation is noted."

David took the water glass and headed towards the kitchen, leaving Nick on the couch. He was about to leave it in the sink when he noticed the sink was too crowded to hold much of anything. And if his sight wasn't failing him, he could have sworn he saw something move under the taco-covered plate. David made a face. The rumor of men being pigs wasn't something women had to make up; they were basing it on pure fact.

He figured it would take five minutes at most, so of course twenty minutes later, he finally finished tackling the dishes he was sure had been there for at least several weeks. He made a mental note to inform Nick that when milk solidified, it was usually a sign to throw it out.

"So are you taking a couple of days off or what?" he asked as he folded the kitchen towel and placed it back in the drawer. "You can always call Sanders and…"

David walked through the doorway but stopped speaking the moment he caught sight of Nick sleeping on the couch. He paused at the sight, hating himself for unconsciously trying to soak the image in.

Nick was almost beautiful lying there, even with that patch on his eye. David would have never admitted to a living soul, but one would have to have been blind not to notice how attractive the other man was: dark hair, dark eyes, charming smile. David pursed his lips. The words "Nick" and "attractive" were to never be used in the same sentence, just like "Ecklie" and "sexy" or "Sanders" and "intelligent."

Because there were more to people that what appeared on the outside. If everything were based purely on physical appearance, David's ex-wife would have died with laughter when he proposed. Looking back, he sort of wished she had.

With a small sigh, he grabbed the blanket from Nick's bed before draping it over the Texan, well aware that doing so destroyed the snarky, bitter image he worked so hard to maintain. But what did he expect himself to do? Let Nick lie there, looking pathetically small and blind and cold?

Without looking back, he grabbed his keys, locked the door behind him, and drove home.

_Careful where you stand,  
Careful where you lay your head,  
It's true we're always looking out for one another._

_Careful Where You Stand_, Coldplay

TBC.


	4. Wherein the Terrible Turban is Donned

A/T: Thanks for all your positive feedback! If I didn't have it, I'd still write, but I'd become depressed and pained at the lack of inspirational reviews and turn into one of those tortured poets. You know what I'm talking about.

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and they probably aren't yours either. Hey, let's form a club about it!

Snapshots  
Act 4: Wherein The Terrible Turban is Donned and Greg's Camera Needs Cleaning

The thing about having neighbors was this one important and irrefutable fact: rarely were they decent. Ms. Rainey he could live with. Daphne he tolerated.

It was Carter in 2L that he loathed.

He still remembered when that jackass moved in a year and a half ago; then again, how could he forget? The man had marched up to the second floor with a parade of movers behind him, hauling supposedly valuable art that looked as if someone had sneezed on the canvas before sticking a price tag to it. He lugged in absurdly expensive "modern" furniture that made a cactus look comfortable. He even drug up a television with a worth so incredible that it could have fed a starving family in Africa for the next decade; however, considering he was rich and snobby, he didn't care about Africa. He used his powers for evil.

David honestly thought the man couldn't get any worse.

Indeed, Carter in 2L was the unfortunate result of two sexually active rich people with nothing better to do than overpopulate the world. And do they overpopulate the world with decent human beings? Of course they don't; they continue the Snobby Rich People bloodline where yet another generation of Snobby Rich People can overtax the American workforce, buy clothes and jewelry that's worth more than David can earn in a year, and produce spawn that sit around, hogging valuable oxygen and resources while gazing dumbly at this strange place called Earth and wondering what they hell they were doing there.

Those forced to interact with them wondered the exact same thing.

But eventually, Carter's money ran out; more specifically, his parents realized their mistake (twenty-five years too late, folks) and changed the locks on their door. He had to get a place of his own (of course, he had to choose the building David happened to be living in) and, even more horrific, he had to get a job. One that required actual _work_. Needless to say, the first four attempts weren't successful.

To add to his bad reputation on the second floor, he had also rejected Ms. Rainey's welcome-to-the-neighborhood casserole, claiming he didn't eat carbs, sugar, or trans fat. Frankly, he dissed the nice old lady in 2M, and that was crossing the line. It also left David to wonder what exactly Carter _did_ eat that could be found in a garden or any natural place on the planet.

These things aside, David had considered Carter your basic, run-of-the-mill idiot. In doing so, however, David underestimated the sheer magnitude of stupid people.

Carter had become so adjusted to having everything done for him that he had automatically assumed there was daily garbage pick up; roughly translated, he would leave his trash bags outside his door and wait for someone to throw them away.

No matter how long it took.

A year and a half ago, David had watched that trash bag sit outside Carter's door for seventy-two hours until he was nearly knocked over by the odor on the fourth day. And then he did something he very rarely did: he broke. He grabbed the garbage and took it down to the dumpsters before giving that good-for-nothing land lord a piece of his mind.

And now, a year and a half later, Carter in 2L still firmly held onto the belief that the Sahara Apartment Complex had garbage pickup. Feed the stray and it'll always come back; take out a man's trash and he'll always leave another bag. Every morning he'd leave out a plastic bag and David would simply pick it up when he took out his own. It wasn't his usual style; he'd raise hell first, but trying to communicate with people like Carter was like trying to communicate with a mentally retarded chimpanzee. It just wasn't going to happen.

Being the scientist he was, he knew the odds of getting the man to grasp the fact that there wasn't any garbage pickup would be far more stressful than to just grab the bag up on his way to the elevator. He hated surrender. Then again, he also hated the thought of having to interact with a stupid person. The question was which did he hate the most?

David considered his options as he stood in the doorway of his apartment, staring at trash bag that sat waiting outside Carter's door. The damn thing was taunting him.

He heard the door to the left of him swing open. Knowing it was Daphne sticking her head out to observe the showdown, he ignored her. Her sigh that followed was one of genuine exasperation.

"Why do you always do this, Dave?"

"What, stare at a sack of garbage?"

"Exactly. Who do you think is going to blink first?"

"I've got to give credit to the bag. It beats me every time."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall right next to him, giving him a scrutinizing look. He would have returned it, but those efforts were being directed elsewhere.

"Carter really is a jerk," she finally admitted, although she rarely liked to address the bad side of people. "I'm sure you spend every waking hour planning your revenge against him."

"It took a while, but my revenge plot is all worked out."

"Oh? What does it entail?"

"A cannibalistic tribe from some far off island. And a volcano."

"Oo, nice. You get the tribe, I'll take care of the volcano."

"You're too kind, Daph. Speaking of which, guess who called me at one in the morning? Here's a hint: she wants to bake a cake for my birthday on Thursday."

Daphne visibly flinched. "Oops."

"You can join Carter when the cannibals throw him into the blazing hot lava pit."

"Let's not get too crazy here, Dave. I just accidentally let it slip when I stopped by to get Ms. Rainey's recycling."

"Unless you give me someone else to blame it on, you're on my hit list."

"Well, remember when I met that girl you work with last Christmas? Joyce? Jen?" Daphne suddenly snapped her fingers, recalling the name of the culprit. "Jacqui! That's it! She happened to mention your birthday in passing and I happened to remember it."

David finally tore his eyes away from the garbage bag. "Jacqui? She's responsible?"

"I officially put the blame on her."

David sighed. He always had a special place for Jacqui. It was a shame she had to die.

He turned and grabbed his trash from inside his apartment before locking the door behind him. There was a stretched silence between him and Daphne before he finally sighed and walked the two and a half yards it took to get to Carter's door. He grabbed the white plastic trash sack.

"Remember the cannibals and volcanoes," Daphne said encouragingly. "And hey, what kind of cake is Ms. R baking?"

"Banana," he replied. Daphne did a victory dance in the middle of the hall, her short hair ruffled and her Amnesty International t-shirt barely matching her red sneakers.

"Something tells me you're not upset by this," he dryly noted.

She sent him a big grin. "And something tells _me_ that you've never had her banana cake!"

…

"DAVID HODGES!"

When Jacqui Franco wanted his attention, she usually had to fight for it. She was a strong woman who never backed down, but David Hodges was her equal when it came to being stubborn. When either technician wanted something out of the other, it took days of nagging to get one of them to break.

Today, she wasn't in the mood to nag. She didn't feel like fighting about it. And she _certainly_ wasn't going to give him the luxury of being nice. No, she was on the warpath; God help any unfortunate soul who got in her way.

David heard her bellow from his seat in the laboratory before he ever saw her in person. His ears immediately perked up, trying to determine the direction she was coming from and, like any sane human being, the quickest way to escape her enraged grasp.

"DAVID!"

West. Definitely west.

He could see Archie furrow his brows and look up curiously from his own A/V lab, the glass walls giving him a perfect view. Archie paused a moment before glancing towards David, sending him a _What have you done **now**? _look from across the hallway.

David knew she'd check the lab first before sniffing him out through the break room and then the lockers. No place was safe unless some magical carpet suddenly appeared to whisk him away.

Tests were running. Lunchtime was near. He knew he'd have a few precious minutes to make a break for it… and make a break for it he did. Down the east hallway; too far down would be a dead end. He made a sharp right into the break room and- wait, what was this? A miracle? No, it was the storage closet and it was mercifully empty enough to hold one person.

He quickly bypassed Nick and Bobby, both of whom were downing their lunch. They shot him a confused look before shooting the same look to each other.

"You didn't see me and you don't know where I am," David instructed before closing the closet door behind him. The small space was dark and cramped, but he pressed his ear to the door, waiting for Jacqui's bid for blood. He didn't have to wait long.

Outside, Jacqui poked her head into the break room, shooting both Nick and Bobby an accusing glare. Her eyes passed over the room, searching for her prey. She sniffed. David Hodges's spicy yet subtle cologne had been here. Her victim was close by.

"Where's that little snot hiding? And don't think you can protect him either," she said, shooting Nick a dangerous look, aware that only he was selfless enough to risk his life for someone else in a situation like this.

"Little snot?" Nick asked innocently. "You mean Greg?"

"_No,_ I don't mean Greg! I mean David!"

"Phillips?"

"HODGES!"

"Hodges? Can't say I've seen him."

"Stokes, do you want to live to see the sunrise?"

"Preferably."

"All I need's a location. Janitor's closet? Archie's lab? Men's toilet stall?"

"Truthfully, I wouldn't know."

"Does he think he can hide in the men's restrooms? Do you _honestly_ think I won't go in there?"

"I have no doubt that you would."

Jacqui walked into the room and leaned close to him, their noses almost touching. Her eyes were steely; her voice held the promise of imminent doom for the one who hid her victim's location.

"Where. Is. He."

Nick took a slow breath before shooting a bewildered look Bobby's way. Bobby only shook his head in warning before hiding behind his newspaper. Obviously, he had been on the bad end of Jacqui once. He didn't want to go through it again.

"What did he do?" Nick asked, resisting the unmanly urge to shrink away.

"You'll find out at his funeral," she darkly replied.

Okay, that was it. He wasn't dying for this. "Storage closet," he supplied without hesitation. He was sure that David Hodges led a good life and he was even more certain that they would mention that at his wake.

Jacqui made a rapid turn and stalked over to the door, gripped the knob, and tore it open.

"Do you think I didn't notice that you broke into my locker? _Again_?" she asked as she reached into the closet, grabbing the collar of his dark blue lab coat and hauling him out into plain view. Nick was thoroughly perplexed, but it seemed that Bobby had the good sense not to even ask.

"Woman, do you mind?" David asked, trying to loosen the grip she had on him.

"_Mind_? David, I don't even _want_ to know what you did with my stockings."

"Then don't ask. Now would you let go-''

"Do you know how much they cost a pair? Do you?"

"More than my life, obviously."

"A stick of _gum_ costs more than your life, Dave."

"How sweet. Need I remind you of the ten bucks that went missing out of _my_ locker last week?"

Jacqui paused a moment, as if just remembering that she had, in fact, borrowed a pair of fives out of her friend's wallet. Nevertheless, her vice grip on his collar didn't loosen.

"Doesn't matter," she decided. "I needed those hose!"

"What were they, sentimental? I'll buy you another pair," he said, still trying to tug at her hold.

"I ruined my others yesterday. What good does that do me now?"

"You tell me. Now would you please-''

"Are you going to force me to change my locker combination?"

"Like that'll stop me."

"David!"

"Jacq, you're upset. I get it. Last night, you ripped your first pair. You go to your locker only to find that an unknown culprit has taken your backups. There's a reason you're so upset, but if you'd just shave your legs once in a while then you wouldn't _have_ to wear-''

"DAVID!" she screeched, clamping her other hand over his mouth. She quickly turned to Nick, ignoring Bobby. Bobby didn't look the least bit surprised at the news and continued to dutifully read his paper. "You didn't just hear that," she said, as if commanding Nick to erase the last ten seconds from his memory.

Nick gave her another innocent look. "Who, me? Of course I didn't. I was paying attention to that wall over there."

Jacqui turned angrily to her hostage before smacking her palm against his head. "What were you thinking saying that, huh? Not everyone needs to know!"

"I've never had the heart to say this, but you're pretty violent when you want to be."

"Heart? David Hodges, you have no heart. If you had any sort of emotion, you would have never forced me to go around the rest of the night with… torn hose, okay? You know you're payment for this, don't you?"

David shot her a look that Nick could only label as truly horrified. "You _wouldn't_."

She leaned in closer, her voice taking on a deadly quality that Bobby flinched at. "Wouldn't I?"

There was a silence before someone cleared their throat from behind her. Jacqui's head shot up and she spun around, coming face to face with her boss.

She gave him a small, nervous laugh. Grissom didn't seem upset that a murder was about to be committed in their very own lab; as a matter of fact, he seemed almost interested in these strange beings known as lab technicians. He shot her a curious look as she slowly began making her way around the older man, dragging David behind her.

"What?" she asked, defensively. "You're a man! Why don't you guys have to shave _your_ legs, huh? What's the deal with that? They say we're liberated women but we're actually suppressed by men and their needs for an ideally attractive female."

Grissom nodded gravely. "I understand."

"You've been reading those feminist books again, haven't you?" David muttered. She shot him a look that would have sent any other mere mortal scampering the other direction.

…

"So that's your payment?" a voice asked. "I can't believe she's actually making you wear that thing."

David shot Nick a steely look from his place in the lab. A few hours had passed since the incident in the break room and the moment Jacqui had gotten them back to their respective domain, she had slammed the dreaded swami hat on his head. Lab technicians throughout the building sent their genuine sympathies his direction.

"Although the odds aren't in my favor, I _am_ trying to keep as much dignity in tact as possible. Pointing out the fact that I'm wearing a ridiculously tacky eyesore isn't helping my cause much."

Nick tried to hide his laughter behind a cough. "Sorry. I almost feel responsible for this considering you hacked into her locker for me."

"I can see you're all broken up about it."

Nick couldn't hide his laughter any longer. He took one long look at the technician before a smile the size of Texas grew on his lips and before he knew it, he was sitting on one of the labs uncomfortable barstools, trying to control himself. Honestly, it was the ugliest headpiece anyone had ever seen; the kicker was that the Great and Mighty Hodges was forced into wearing it. These types of instances were rare but not completely unheard of.

"Man, you labrats are like a while different species. I don't make Warrick go around wearing a swami hat."

"This hat isn't just _any_ hat. It symbolizes a whole slew of sentimental crap that Jacqui's thought up the past couple of years."

"It seems to be used as a punishment."

"That's because she knows I hate sentimentality. And let's face it: gold plated dog crap looks better. Now can we move on?"

"I would, but this is just so priceless."

David shot him a warning look and knew the subject had to be changed lest he be taunted for eternity. "So what part of 'Jacqui's coming, don't tell her where I am' didn't you understand?" David asked conversationally, trying to ignore the way Nick grinned at him from his seat.

"Oh, I'd say when my well-being was seriously put into jeopardy."

"Remind me never to put my life in your hands. Gutless much?"

"Hey, _I_ wasn't the one hiding in a storage closet."

Damn, Nick had him there. He was about to address the fact that Nick still had to wear that ridiculous eye patch when he was interrupted. There was a knock on the door frame of the lab before Greg leaned in, grinning at them both before cringing at the sight of Jacqui's demanded payment that now adorned David's head.

"Whoa. Did you kill Jacq's dog or something?" he asked, wincing empathetically. He too had known the torment of Jacqui's wrath.

"Sanders," David acknowledged once Greg had arrived. "What can you bother me with today?"

"Y'know, you always act as if you're never happy to see me or something," Greg replied, grinning wider and strutting in.

"There are too many ways to answer that. Don't make me choose."

"Ah, our usual trade of wits begins. What are you doing here anyway?"

"My job. Maybe you've heard of one."

Greg gave him a surprised look. "I thought you were supposed to be at the scene."

"Why would I be there?"

"The SOS is still loud and clear. Everyone's getting ready to head out to that restaurant."

David paused a moment before shooting him an equally puzzled glance. "I thought that was a one time thing. Need I remind you that I'm not really qualified to be out there?"

"The first night we were just understaffed and last night Sofia was here, but she's got a couple days leave. You're our extra hand until she gets back. Flattered?"

"That's not exactly the word that comes to mind," he muttered as he removed Jacqui's punishment from his head and placed it next to his station.

Greg grinned again before waving him over. "I'll drive you. And Nicky, since he's blind."

"Only temporarily," Nick interrupted. "When I get there I'm taking this patch off."

"And should you be doing that?" David asked, peeling off his lab coat and beginning to follow Greg to the lockers.

Nick shrugged as he trailed next to them. "It feels better. Besides, I can't work a scene wearing this thing anyway."

Greg gave him a smile. "Then it's a good thing we'll be there to help you out, isn't it?"

…

Greg's car pulled up to the scene; the restaurant was just as David remembered it, but he somehow felt more confident being there. Perhaps it was because he was armed with two qualified CSIs or maybe because he didn't spot Sheriff Atwater sniffing around. What's better, he wasn't given the impression that everyone was staring, wondering what a lab tech was doing in the field.

"Ah, the job beckons," said Greg, taking a deep breath of air as he slammed his door shut. "Y'know, there are some people who sit at computers all day. How can anyone want anything other than this?"

"Hm. Death and despair was what the American dream was built on," David replied, rolling his eyes when Greg shot him a large, goofy grin. "How someone couldn't want this in their life every day is beyond me."

Nick (obviously noting the beginnings of a snark war) quickly interfered. "You guys gonna snap at each other all night or start processing?" he inquired, giving them both a pointed look.

"Duty calls," muttered Greg, letting out a melodramatic sigh. "I guess we could- wait, hold the elevator," he said, pausing in his trek to the scene. David was about to comment on Greg's ridiculous expression of holding the elevator what he caught sight of an even more ridiculous Greg staring inquisitively at the camera, as if expecting to fix the problem with his scrutinizing gaze alone.

"What's up?" Nick asked, following David's example and turning to watch Greg.

"There's something on my camera lens," the other man replied, blowing on the affected area in an attempt to clear it off. "It's all specky."

"Specky?" David asked, clearly unimpressed with the choice of vocabulary. "I can't believe you passed the proficiency test with words like that."

Greg grinned. "I dazzled them with my charm and wit instead."

"Sanders, didn't your mother ever teach you that it was wrong to lie?"

"Hodges, those words cut deep."

"It's moments like these that your professional attitudes really shine through. Now am I gonna have to separate you two?" Nick asked, not exactly thrilled with their progress.

"I don't want crime scene photos with specks on them, oh master. Give the genius a moment," Greg replied, pulling a lens cloth from his field kit and beginning to lightly rub the circular glass.

"You're using the term 'genius' pretty loosely, aren't you?" asked David.

Greg stuck his tongue out childishly. "Why don't you do something useful, like catch up on the case? Nicky's the walking encyclopedia. I merely steal his credit and reap the rewards."

Nick turned to David, rolling his eyes at Greg's goofiness before giving David a small smile. "You'll probably need a general outline anyway," the Texan admitted. Wow. They were even bothering to tell him what was going on. Was he moving up in the world or _what_?

"There are worse ways I could be wasting my time."

"I'm taking that as your way of saying 'go ahead and explain'."

"Three years of working together and you're finally catching the hints."

Nick merely shook his head before gesturing to the restaurant twenty yards away. "We're pretty sure this is only where the bodies were stored, not where the actual crimes were committed. As you already know, those women were found in the freezer by the real estate agent who was actually trying to sell this dump."

"The freezer was working?" David asked, surprised. "In a place like this?"

Nick smiled again. "The restaurant's falling apart, but it's still on the power grid. It can get electricity. All you have to do is flip the switch."

"I have a feeling this little slice of architectural heaven is in violation of some serious building codes," David muttered, absorbing the overgrown shrubs, busted walls, rotting floors, missing roof, shattered windows, and basic decay.

Nick laughed. "Sara gets to do that fun research. I guess the killer never thought anyone would want the building, so he started using it for his home base. We found a whole bunch of religious pictures and statues. We think this might be the work of a religious zealot on another crusade."

"Religious pictures? Like photographs?"

"More like paintings, I guess you'd say."

David mulled this over in his head. Far be it for him to start pitching theories and using his basic reasoning skills, but it couldn't hurt to ask. "Were these paintings gold?"

Nick lifted an eyebrow. "Been snooping through some crime photos, Hodges?"

"Secretly leafing through piles of crime photos is the epitome of my career, Stokes. I'm surprised you haven't caught on my now."

Nick shot him a look of genuine amusement. His deep brown eyes a sparkle of life that had been missing the first few months after… after the night he was buried. David resisted the urge to look away. "I surrender," Nick replied, admitting his wit could never match that of the Master's. "Yes, they were gold. Most of the subject matter was either Jesus or Madonna and Child."

"Not that I know anything outside the realm of trace," David said, giving Nick a small shrug, "But they could be ikons. I-K-O-N-S."

"Spell it with a K? Why?"

"It's Russian, which means it's pretty phonetic. Personally, I'm still wondering how 'ph' ever replaced the letter 'f' in the alphabet."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff."

"My grandmother was Russian," David replied. "You can't see them, but there are holes in my head where she drilled in the entire history and culture of my family."

Nick paused a moment, as if he knew what he wanted to say but was uncertain on whether or not to voice it. The moments stretched on and David realized that they had never had an awkward silence like this. What, was there something on his face? Did he say something wrong? Considering his past history, the latter wouldn't be so incredibly hard to believe.

Finally, Nick spoke. "You wanna help me go over some scene photos?" he asked, his voice uncertain. "You've got the eye, man. It's not just the ikons either. There are elements of Europe everywhere in this scene."

David took a breath. He could manage a table covered with photos. Very few social skills were involved when staring at pictures.

"I'll have to check my schedule. Oh, look, I'm free."

"I'm sure the hot date you had to cancel is crying a river."

"You really push the envelope, don't you Stokes?"

"Learned from the best, Hodges."

"Ah, the stinging retort." He was silent for a minute, debating the offer in his head. What did he have to lose? If anything, at least he could be useful solving a case and despite what many thought, he cared about the outcome. He wanted the bad guys behind bars just as badly as the next person.

"Fine. If you need help with the photos, I'll cancel all hot dates and assist in any way I can." He held up his hand as Nick opened his mouth to speak. "And remember that this will never happen again. As a matter of fact, my assistance during this case is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Document it somewhere so you can prove to future generations that this even happened in the first place."

"I'm honored."

"The tone in your voice clearly indicates otherwise."

Nick grinned. "Fine. Tomorrow around seven? I can just follow you to your place."

Wait, when had his apartment become part of this? At what point had his place of residence been included? No one, save for Ms. Rainey and Daphne, had ever seen the inside of his domain. It needed to be cleaned and organized and sure, it wasn't like he took the Greg Sander's Course in Organizing, but there were still some magazines being used as makeshift drink coasters. _Be calm here, David_. Pretend Nick is a guy offering drugs and just say _no_.

"Yeah, sure."

What the _hell_? His mouth obviously wasn't communicating with his brain. That hadn't happened since high school, when he tried to ask Leslie Cabot to the prom and ended up baby-sitting her little brother so she could go with Marcus Sinclair, a nice enough fellow who tried to shove David into lockers once or twice. Needless to say, Marcus only tried a couple of times until he realized that, although not exactly a body builder, David could give a good black eye if he wanted.

Nick gave him a half smile. "'Kay then. Thanks for helping out."

"Just don't let the word slip. The rumor that I'm nice will ruin me."

David suddenly felt the telltale prickle in his skin; the sign of someone watching him. He tore his gaze away from Nick just in time to be blinded by Greg's camera flash, gray dots now floating in front of his eyes.

"Sanders, must you?" he asked, a note of irritation coloring his voice. Greg shot him another cheeky grin as Nick began laughing at their antics.

"Aw, Hodgie. It's moments like these you want to remember all your life."

"I told you not to call me names like that!"

"Hodge-podge?"

"_Sanders._"

"Hodgey-wodgey?"

"Don't make me do something I'll regret."

"Davey-wavey?"

"_Greg Sanders!_"

…

Six hours later, Greg took a glance at the photo. The speck he'd been trying to wipe off from the lens was still in the corner of the picture, but the end result was remarkably clear and well lit despite it. The sky was black but the headlights from police cars and flashlights in their hands made the swirling dust and fog appear blue, like mist.

It was a picture he'd accidentally caught, but it seemed as if David had felt Greg's watchful eye through the camera lens and had turned to face him a moment before the flash went off. Nick hadn't the time to see what caught David's attention before Greg snapped the photo; the result was David looking into the lens and Nick staring at David with dark eyes. They were standing close together and had been in a deep conversation before Greg had interrupted it.

Greg took a closer look. David had the most incredibly blue eyes, pale skin, dark hair. The night fog that billowed between them made them look as if they were part of some dream that reality couldn't touch.

He broke into a small smile. What was David's locker number again? He supposed it didn't matter as he slipped the picture into Nick's locker instead.

_You'll make this all less confusing.  
it's a slow dive down,  
a fast distraction,  
a strange fall forward -  
my lame reaction._

_Snow Day, _Lisa Loeb

TBC.


	5. Wherein Milky Ways Are Feared

A/T: There's a reason this chapter took such a long time to complete and (whether or not you care to hear it) I'm going to tell you why: I lost this file. That's right, folks; it disappeared, went corrupt, decided that my hard drive was too good for it and traveled through many wires and connections to get somewhere in the Alps where it'll now enjoy an illegally obtained Swiss bank account. (Unfortunately, it won't share it with me.) I apologize for the dreadful wait I'm sure you were forced to endure.

I hope you like the neighbors. Even more, I hope that Daphne isn't a cliché. I wanted to try and base her on all the people I've met so far on LJ (all you great _CSI_ fans!) I aimed to make her unusual and quirky, but not obnoxious. How am I doing?

To miasnape: Thanks for liking my non-CSI characters! I was worried people wouldn't find them interesting. And even though Greg won't be paired up with Dave this time, he's definitely staying for the ride! -grins-

Disclaimer: Not yours. Not mine. Pass the Kleenex, please.

Snapshots  
Act 5: Wherein Milky Ways Are Feared and All Hell Breaks Lose

"Stop laughing."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. Take a piece of duct tape and stick it over your obnoxious mouth."

"There was a _picture_ of him in your _locker_."

"Planted by some crazy Norwegian guy!"

"Thoust doth protest too much."

"Warrick-''

"I mean, it's totally fine if you swing that way, but Hodges is a handful. You're gonna have your work cut out for you."

"_Warrick_-''

"If you ignore his bad personality and inability to feel emotions, I guess he's not completely revolting. I'm just not sure if he's the dating type."

"Fine, _I'll_ get the duct tape."

"I just can't get over it, man. I keep waiting for someone to cue the Twilight Zone theme music and Rod Serling to walk into the lab and start narrating your suddenly twisted life."

"It was from last night's crime scene. We were talking about the case, Greg snapped a picture, end of story."

"But you two looked so cozy. All you were missing was the romantic candle light and champagne."

"Cozy? We were _not _cozy. We were doing our jobs."

"Sure you were, Romeo. I still don't think you should've tackled me in the middle of the hallway, though."

"You were going to tell Catherine about the picture!"

"Not necessarily Catherine. I would have told Sara if I saw her first."

"The point was that you were going to tell _someone_. I had to stop you."

"Yeah, but wasn't tackling a little bit obvious?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Okay, fine. I won't say anything more about it."

Warrick silently sat in the driver's seat of the Tahoe, trying to keep a straight face. He hadn't meant to see it, but the photo had come floating out of Nick's locker and landed at Warrick's feet, practically _begging_ him to pick it up. So he did. After all, who was he to mess with destiny?

He took a quick glance towards a humiliated and irritated Nick who occupied the passenger's seat next to him and knew he shouldn't rib him further unless he wanted an early demise. He should stop teasing him. Really, he should.

"Stop laughing!"

"I can't," Warrick gasped between the now-familiar bouts of chuckles.

"Yes you can. Take a piece of duct tape and _stick it over your obnoxious mouth_!"

"Nick, there was a _picture_ of him in your _locker_."

"Planted by some crazy Norwegian guy!"

…

"It's a bad day in Mudville, folks."

Ronnie Litre was a really nice guy, plain and simple. He was a talented technician, polite to a fault, intelligent, and would just as soon shoot himself than call a woman fat, ugly, or any other demeaning term known to the English language. But when he busted through the Trace lab doors, breathless and somewhat rushed, David, Archie, and Bobby knew that the "bad news" had to be of apocalyptic proportions; Ronnie was rarely as frazzled as he was that very moment.

"Whoa, Ronnie," Bobby began, quickly rising from his seat and giving his friend a concerned look. "What's goin' on? Grissom on some sorta tear?"

"It's worse that that," Ronnie solemnly replied as he made sure the door closed behind him before plopping on a barstool next to the evidence table. "It's way worse than that."

"What, did Grissom call in sick and Ecklie's overseeing the graveyard shift tonight?" Archie guessed.

"Worse."

"Did we get a big case and now we're going to have to pull a double?"

"If only."

"Oh my God! Is there no more coffee in the break room?"

"No, but you're getting warmer."

"Spit it out, then," Bobby suggested, setting down a manila file and placing a hand on his hip, the personification of impatience. Archie, upon hearing that there was enough coffee to survive on, let out a relieved sigh. "If there's coffee, it can't possibly be that bad."

Ronnie held up his palm, as if to silence his questioners. "I'll tell you, but you're not going to like it." He took this moment to insert a dramatic pause before speaking again, rising from his seat in favor of pacing from one end of the room to the other and nervously wringing his hands. "I saw Jacqui in the break room," he confessed, uncomfortably scratching the back of his neck before returning to his previous task of pacing.

A moment passed between the three listeners as they waited for him to continue. When he didn't move to speak, David lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

"And? Was she watching Sheriff Atwater do the foxtrot in a Speedo?" he calmly asked as Bobby choked on his tongue at the words. Archie visibly blanched while Ronnie shook his head, grimacing as if he were forcing himself to relive a painful memory.

"No, it wasn't that." As an after thought, he added, "Thank the Good Lord."

"Then _what was Jacqui doing_ that was so traumatizing to the naked eye?"

"She was eating a chocolate bar, okay? A chocolate bar!" Ronnie finally admitted, pausing to anxiously run his hand through his hair. "She was just sitting alone and stewing, guys. Like- like some villain from a bad eighties movie!"

While most others might have been bewildered at the somber silence that suddenly settled over the technicians, the four men in question knew all too well what Ronnie's pertinent information meant. Roughly translated, they were doomed. They were done for. They were utterly screwed.

"Did she see you?" Bobby worriedly asked, noticeably relaxing when Ronnie shot him an incredulous look.

"_See_ me? Hell no! I made tracks. I saw that candy wrapper and I was gone."

"Before we panic," Archie promptly began, "Was it a Crunch Bar or a Three Musketeers?"

Ronnie was obviously reluctant to even bring it up. "It was a Milky Way," he confessed, visibly cringing. The three listeners let out a collective groan; Bobby and Archie even hung their heads in despondent hopelessness. The "don't panic" plan was obviously out of the question.

Jacqui was usually a healthy eater, often bringing sandwiches, fat-free yogurt, and fresh fruit or vegetables with her for lunch. The only time she broke out the junk food was when That Time Of The Month arrived; it was a time that the four male technicians had grown to dread. When she had Crunch Bars, it was usually okay. That particular sweet wasn't too strong, which meant she wasn't craving enough to kill someone for it. When she punched the magical numbers for the Three Musketeers, they knew they were in the red zone.

But when the Milky Way was eaten, it was time to run for the hills.

"It's That Time," Ronnie muttered. "My wife just finished. I don't know if I can go through it again."

"I can't believe we've been reduced to trackin' her monthly visitor," Bobby groaned, shaking his head. "Surely we're prouder than this, right?"

"It's survival of the male species," David clarified. Sure, most other men got together and talked about "the big game" or fishing; however, David knew they weren't "most other men." Instead, they were degraded to the point of fearing their female associate's menstrual rotation and making note of the candy she ate. "Pride means nothing. Pride is when you're stupid enough to think tracking it doesn't matter."

"It's true," Ronnie bemoaned. "If you don't track, they'll attack. It's my motto and trust me, I know. I have three sisters, two daughters, and a wife."

"The confessions of a broken man," Archie observed, grinning.

"Cute, coming from he who is unhitched. The point is that Jacq got the strongest bar in the machine. She's eating it by herself, glaring at the opposite wall. The signs are telling me that it's gonna be hell."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Archie hopefully interjected. "I mean, she sometimes eats junk even when she's not…" He trailed off, embarrassed to speak of such personal matters. "Cycling."

David shot the younger man a dubious glance. "You know, those are the dying words of the infantile and foolishly optimistic. Going around with that mindset is suicidal."

"She'll roast you over an open fire and eat you for breakfast," Bobby began, a warning tone to his voice.

"-before rewarding herself with a box of Little Debbie brownies," Ronnie finished. "Count your blessings and say your prayers, 'cause we're going to die."

…

Several hours passed after the fear-inducing announcement and David felt the rest of the world melt away. It was the rare, quiet moments like these that gave him too much time to think about the morning that was soon to come and the man who would stop by and review the case. He knew he was taking the visit far too seriously and he would never admit to how fidgety he actually was about the entire ordeal, but that didn't stop him from cleaning up his apartment the day before, scrubbing down the bathroom and throwing away old issues of _Car and Driver. _

David heard the lab door open but he resisted the urge to look up and see whom it was. Did it really matter? Most of the time, it was a CSI wanting their evidence and wanting it _now_. He couldn't blame them, but at the same time, he was limited by the technology.

"Hey Hodges," said a voice. David glanced up to see Warrick, Nick, and Greg standing before him. What, did he win some sort of lottery? To be in their simultaneous presence was too much to ask for.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged, going back to his work, trying to ignore Nick as best he could. "I only remember paging Warrick. As I've told all of you numerous times before, hovering over my shoulder won't make the samples finish any faster." He paused a moment before giving them a warning glare. "And don't tell me you need an extra hand at a scene tonight. I've got so much backlog that I'll be running evidence until I die of old age."

"Don't worry," Greg chimed in. "We've got that restaurant in perfect order. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"Please. You want to know what the substance was on that painting, but nice try with your first attempt to BS me as a CSI," David replied, walking towards the printer. He grabbed the sheet of paper and, taking a quick look, handed it to Warrick before returning to the scope.

"I've personally known the frustration of having impatient CSIs snapping at my heels," Greg replied, grinning. "There's no need to hurry on my account."

"Stop sweating. Yours are almost finished."

Greg let out a relieved sigh and flopped onto a nearby chair, allowing his calm façade to disappear. "Thank God," he said, leaning his head back. "You're a life saver, Dave."

"You only want me for my results."

"Shhh! We agreed to keep our relationship between us," Greg said, his laughter detracting from any seriousness his tone might have had. "And hey, speaking of relationships," he continued, jumping up from his seat and fishing for something in his right jean pocket, "I'm sending pictures to Ryan."

"Congratulations. Remind me why I care."

"I'm sending pictures on my phone," Greg reiterated, pulling the small object out of his right pocket. "And I want yours. May I?"

David looked up. "You want my picture?" he asked, giving the younger man a _you've got to be kidding me_ look. "Do you want him to break up with you or something?"

"Your low self-esteem's unhealthy," Greg rebuked. "Besides, I'm sending him pictures of all my friends and I want to make sure to include everyone. That means you, Oscar."

"Please don't tell me you just referred to me as that green guy from Sesame Street."

"I'm pretty sure you wouldn't live in a trash can, but your personality is spot on."

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me."

"Hey, I'll have you know that Oscar is my second favorite character. Elmo just happens to be my first."

"Although I find you knowledge of child shows fascinating, you can put the camera away. Last time I checked, 'friends' wasn't the best term used to describe our relationship."

"That hurts."

"The tears of sorrow give you away."

"C'mon, you're my buddy. Pal. Amigo."

"You forgot 'arch nemesis."

"Look, Nicky here hasn't had his taken yet either," Greg pointed out, shoving a quiet Nick in David's direction. "You can be in the same one, that way you won't be shy about it."

"G, come on,'' Nick began, placing a hand on his hip. "Can't you see he's trying to work?"

"Can't work while the machines churn out the info, can he? Besides, you just don't want _your_ picture taken either. What is it with you guys?"

David watched as Warrick tried to hide his laughter; Nick sent his partner a _See? I told you so!_ glare. The technician could only manage to mutter a curse under his breath and surrender by leaning against the wall as he and Nick had their image taken once more by an over-zealous Greg Sanders. Nick shoved his hands in is pockets, giving the camera-phone a half smile while David could barely make his lips twitch upwards. Greg positioned the phone accordingly and placed his finger over a button; a tense moment passed and, without snapping the picture, he lowered the phone and gave David raised brow.

"You're _grimacing_."

"It's a smile, Sanders."

"Why do I have the feeling you were lonely as a child?"

"I was trying to avoid idiots like you. Imagine my heartbreak when I learned that such associations were inescapable, no matter what the age."

"You and Nick aren't even touching."

"Why would I want to touch him?"

"Because my cinematic snapshots are a portrayal of the fulfilling and happy lives we lead at this lab. I'm not asking for a hug, but there's this rigid space between you two and-''

"You know, the secret to a good relationship is honesty. Lying to your boyfriend about your 'fulfilling and happy' working conditions is the first step to a messy breakup."

"Let's give a round of applause for David Hodges, the Love Doctor."

"In case you hadn't noticed, the doctor's out. Take the picture already."

"Fine," Greg sighed, positioning the phone again. With a small 'click', the phone took a small-resolution photo of the two uncomfortable men. The young CSI checked to see how the image came out and, content with the end product, flipped the cell shut. "Ryan's wanted to meet you guys for a while now. He's so nice that I bet even _you'd_ like him, Dave."

"You obviously don't know me at all," David replied, swiftly returning back to his safe work area that allowed an adequate amount of space between him and the other three men.

"He's sweet. And funny. And he's _amazing_ in b-''

"I'm sure your tastes in men are immaculate," David interrupted, aware where the subject was heading. Warrick seemed to get the same idea and, with a somewhat embarrassed wave to David, silently headed out.

"What, you're going to leave me here with him?" David called. Warrick grinned from the other side of the glass wall. David rolled his eyes. How childish. And brilliant.

"Anyway," Greg continued. "Like I was saying, he's-''

"Sanders, I don't want the details. The sooner you get your results, the sooner you'll go away, right?"

"That's the general agreement."

"Fine." David strode over to a computer and, with a few clicks of the mouse, the printer made a beeping noise and spit out a colorful page of substance analysis. David grabbed it, not bothering to see what it said for himself. He thrust it towards the younger man instead.

"Here, take it and be free. Just get out of my lab."

Greg smiled innocently as he took the paper and David had a feeling Greg knew exactly how David would react to any story he might have up his sleeve.

"Thanks Dave," he said, turning and making his way towards the door. "You're awesome."

"Don't think compliments and sex stories are going to work every time, Sanders. Got it?"

"I wouldn't dream of playing such dirty tricks," the blonde man replied, grinning wickedly and waving his farewell before heading off down the hallway, leaving David and Nick alone in the lab.

There was a pause before David shook his head. "He's good," he admitted. "But if he thinks it's going to work on Jacqui, he's out of his mind."

Nick laughed and tiredly found a seat across from the other man, intently watching as David began working on another set of samples. "Speaking of Jacqui, she's pretty grouchy tonight. Something bothering her?"

"You had five sisters, right?" the technician asked, wanting to lead his explanation in the right direction without having to use and particularly vivid terms.

"Right."

"And what part of having sisters bothered you the most?"

"Besides the boyfriends they brought home, the angry and mopey break-up that was guaranteed to follow, the clothes and cosmetics, the constant tied-up phone line, their…" Nick paused a moment. "Oh," he said, realization dawning. "_Oooh_. Gotcha'."

"Yeah, well, you didn't hear it from me," David replied. "She gets that way sometimes. Be nice and you'll live to see tomorrow."

"Makes me wonder how you ever survived. The 'being nice' thing was pretty difficult for you, wasn't it?"

"I'd laugh, but you're not funny."

Nick sent him a grin. David avoided his gaze, looking through the microscope instead, an uncomfortable prickling sensation assaulting the back of his neck.

"So are we still on for today?" Nick casually asked. David forced himself to breathe. Really, he was being ridiculous.

"As far as I know."

"Cool. Then I'll see you in a little while."

David looked up from his position and watched as Nick rose from his seat and gave him another smile. David felt his face heat. Was he blushing? Christ, he was spending _way_ too much time in the lab.

"Sure," David replied, nonchalant. "I'll page you when your results are ready."

"Thanks." Another smile, a small wave, and he was gone.

David finally felt his breath return.

…

Mr. Bernard Shaw in 2E was a nice elderly gentleman who grew up in New Orleans and often played jazz on his genuine .45 record player. He had two sons –Henry and Jamel- who visited every Sunday morning and off they'd go to church, the only truly religious people David had ever met in Las Vegas.

The thing about him was that his apartment door was a shrine to just about everything. Each holiday that came, another decoration was added –a string of lights or a red heart- and it would stay there. He never, ever took them down. To add to this, articles of no particular meaning were taped up and every few days, David would simply stop and read the door, scanning the new stories that had been pasted on top of the old ones. Corner to corner, top to bottom; articles, pictures, movie stubs, album sleeves, postcards, even a Hershey bar wrapper from 1977 that was obviously of some sentimental value to the older man.

David could hear the first few strains of Ella Fitzgerald as he tiredly passed the man's apartment, too involved in his thoughts to check and see if Mr. Shaw had taped up any new reading material that morning. He took a glimpse and saw a new headline that said something about a flying squirrel that could ski, but the technician decided to save the literary masterpiece for another time.

Why was he so anxious about today? Jacqui, Archie, Bobby, and Ronnie had been to his place dozens of times and they were lucky if he had bothered to clean off the couch before they arrived. He knew why he was so strung out about this, but he loathed addressing it. Did he have a slight crush? It felt as if he were in high school again, trying to vehemently deny all possible feelings towards anyone of the same gender. Besides, Nick Stokes was not and could never be the slightest bit interested in David besides professionally. And even if (in some parallel universe or alternate dimension) he _could_ feel something more, David would ruin it. He wasn't good with people, especially in relationships. Hell, he was lucky the four co-workers he already hung out with didn't brand him as completely hopeless.

He let out a small sigh as he fished for the keys in his pocket. He momentarily considered talking to Daphne about it; she always had a sympathetic ear ready and was constantly trying to find out more about his life anyway. He was always tackling issues like this alone. Maybe it was time for him to get someone else's opinion.

He quickly chased the thought away as he found his keys and unlocked his apartment door. To talk to someone about it would mean he was facing his dilemma head on. Frankly, that's the last thing he wanted to do; he could just ignore it like he did everything else. A dilemma is only a dilemma if you _make_ if a dilemma. Nick was coming over to review the case because he needed help and that's exactly what David was offering. That's it. After the case closed, it was over and he would return to 'Hodges, that lab guy.' Nick could have anyone he wanted; even in a parallel universe or alternate dimension, there was no way he could possibly think of a middle-aged, emotionally incapable, trouble-with-human-interaction technician in a romantic sense.

And that's all there was to it.

He closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it. He hated to admit he had a caring side, but he had gone off and bought several bolts when he realized Daphne and Ms. Rainey were protected with flimsy chains and faulty key-locks on their doors. They insisted it wasn't necessary and he insisted that it was. In the end, he had won and took a few minutes of his morning to install them properly. Although he didn't like to talk about what he and his co-workers saw every night on the job, he knew what kind of violence was out there and he wasn't going to allow his two female partners-in-crime to become victim if he had any say-so over it.

He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and, as was his habit, checked the answering machine. "_Hello Mr. Hodges, this is Vanessa from Barnes and Noble. The book you had on order has arrived and you can pick it up within the week." _

Beep. "_Hey Dave, it's the landlord. Listen, tell that friend of yours that her tuba playing is irritating the hell outta Weldon in 2G. Can't she practice any earlier?" _

Beep. "_Hello Mr. Hodges, this is Jen calling on behalf of American Express. We have an extraordinary new offer for custome-'' _He quickly rolled his eyes and pressed the erase button. Was this all his life consisted of? Barnes and Noble, crabby landlords, and American Express? If his answering machine was bad, he dreaded his mail. He listlessly flipped through the white envelopes that magically appeared in his mailbox every day. Bill. Bill. Catalog. Junk. Bill. Oo, a Val-Pak. Could his life sink any lower?

He threw the stack of mail next to his keys before taking a quick glance around his apartment. It looked clean; not as if he was trying too hard, but it wasn't filthy either. Nick would be there in about half an hour, relying on David's keen sense of giving directions and not much else. Well, the man had an address and a 'turn left at the light, go down until you reach the stop sign, make a right, you can't miss it. Look for a woman smoking in a plastic lawn chair. She ought to be the landlord' to work with. David grimaced, hoping it was enough. Maybe he should have just MapQuested it instead.

It was then that he paused in his movements, taking a moment to look around, this time with a renewed interest. Had his CDs been gone through? And had his dining room chairs been moved? Forgetting the unattractive stack of bills, he strained to listen for any foreign sound. It was dead silent other than the methodical ticking of his wall clock, but his sixth sense was still screaming at him to get with the program. Was there someone in his apartment?

He took some halting steps forward before hesitantly calling, "Hello?"

The only reply was silence. He took a few more strides before slowly poking his head around the corner and-

And there, in the middle of his dining room, hung the ugliest, God-awful 'Happy Birthday' sign with Greg, Daphne, Jacqui, Archie, and Ms. Rainey crowded around the table, anticipating his arrival with large grins smeared over their faces. The moment they caught sight of his bewildered face, they cried, "Surprise!" and blew on some noisemakers.

Badly color coordinated balloons adorned his kitchen and dining room. Two homemade banana cakes sat waiting on his table, one with a '3' candle on the top, the other with a '9'. There was a very small pile of gifts in the corner and streamers hung from his ceiling, a job that had obviously been given to Greg. After all, they had no coordination whatsoever. It looked as if he just hopped onto a chair, stuck them to the ceiling, and let gravity take care of the rest.

He continued to stare, genuinely dazed. And did he thank them? Did he smile? Did he even try to comprehend the situation at hand? No. He asked the one thing that popped into his mind.

"How did you get into my apartment?"

It wasn't exactly the _Wow, you guys shouldn't have!_ that most would have hoped for, but because they knew him so well, Daphne easily replied, "I borrowed the master key from the landlord."

It didn't say much for the landlord's knowledge of the legal system, but it certainly gave points to Daphne's ability to throw a surprise party. After all, he had a feeling this was her idea.

"And broke into my place?"

"We prefer to call it a friendly visit. The person we were visiting just wasn't home at the time," Greg replied, jumping up and giving the surprised man a bright grin.

David lifted an eyebrow. "Your familiarity with the law never ceases to amaze me, Sanders."

"A lot of people seem to say that," the younger man agreed.

"Yeah, well, we're glad you're here," Jacqui interrupted. "I was about to dig into this cake without you."

"I'm surprised you haven't already," David replied, unable to hide a small smile. Despite the terrible decorating choices and the modest crime of breaking and entering, he couldn't help but be somewhat flattered that they would go to such lengths to make his life miserable.

"So," he said, making his way over to the cabinets. "Should we break out the plates and forks?"

"As tempting as that is," Archie replied, "Not everyone's here yet."

David paused from his place at the cupboards. "What, you're saying more people are coming?"

"Yup," Greg proudly answered. "You've gotten out of parties for too many years. It's finally come around to bite you on your posterior end."

David rolled his eyes at Greg's choice of words. "Thanks for using such kind terms."

"Well, a gentleman never swears in front of ladies, especially those who rock at baking," he said, giving Ms. Rainey a wink. She laughed a little before shaking her head, humbly accepting the compliment.

"So who exactly is on the guest list?" David queried. "Moreover, I believe the question is whether I have enough plates."

"Don't worry about that. I bought some paper ones," Daphne replied, rising from her seat to fish through his pantry. "I was so excited to find these. I didn't want it to be bland but there aren't exactly Dukes of Hazzard party supplies, you know? And white ones are so boring. It's always great to have some color. Aha!" Having successfully located the fabled plates, she excitedly handed them to the older man.

David blinked several times, hoping to God he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. There were certain humiliating events a guy could go through and still escape unscathed; however, not even John Wayne and Samuel L. Jackson combined had enough manhood to survive _this_. "Daphne," he slowly asked, absorbing the revolting image and wishing he could suddenly go blind. "Is this Oscar the Grouch?"

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She didn't.

"Yeah! Aren't they great? They were on sale at the party place down the street."

She could. She would. She did.

"Daphne, you bought Sesame Street paper plates for my birthday? Do you not know me at all?" he question, utterly horrified. The plates were bright yellow with Oscar's green, furry face filling up the middle and a worm on the top of his head.

He frantically tried to think back. Maybe he had some basic white paper plates hidden in the back of a cabinet somewhere. Yeah, right. It would be a cold day in Hell when he was fortunate enough to have some spare, basic plates lying around or normal friends of any sort.

"Well, I heard Greg talking about how you reminded him of Oscar the Grouch once, and when I saw these I had to buy them. But they didn't have the matching cups, so I bought the next best thing." She bent and fished through his pantry again before extracting another package. He let out a groan when he saw what they were.

"Sesame Street plates and Star Trek cups? What are you trying to do, run me out of town?" he asked, justly exasperated.

"Really? Daph, that's awesome!" Archie said, literally perking up at the mention of _Star Trek _and rising from his seat to inspect said cups. David set the nausea-inducing plates on the counter and quickly returned to his cabinets, praying he wouldn't need to use the monstrosities Daphne had purchased. His heart hit the floor when he realized he only had four ceramic plates to work with. Well, he could eat off a paper towel and Greg could eat off the floor. Who _really_ needed plates anyway?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone knock on his door. Abandoning Archie's obsessive love of the paper cups and Jacqui's eyeing of the cakes, he zigzagged his way past Ms. Rainey and Greg (who David planned to kill by the end of the day) to see who it was. He peered through the peephole to make out the deformed face of Mia Dickerson waiting patiently for someone to answer.

"Hi Mia," he quickly said, opening the door five inches or so. "Party's canceled, sorry. Thanks for the thought."

"Whatever. Open that door before I kick it in."

"I see your mother taught you how to be a polite guest."

"At least my mother taught me _some_ manners. Besides, your host skills aren't much to brag about either." She paused a moment before sniffing. "Do I smell cake?"

"No, it's all a figment of your imagination. As a matter of fact, cake doesn't exist. It's all been an illusion."

"I swear I'll make your life miserable if you don't let me in."

"There's nothing you can do to make it more miserable than it already is," he replied as he opened the door, an indication for her to enter.

She gave him a grin as she accepted the invitation to come inside. "Sorry I'm late. I wanted to be here when you got home, but the traffic was against me."

"You knew about this? And didn't warn me beforehand?"

"Witnessing your misery at a public function was too good of an opportunity to pass up."

"Spoken by a true friend. I just hope you know you're seriously paying for this later."

"Like you'll ever get the better of me," she sweetly challenged before giving him a hug, her short frame awkward against his tall body, but she put her arms around his waist and gave him a tight squeeze anyway. "Happy Birthday, David. And Bobby's going to get here soon. He had to run some extra bullets for the day shift."

David sighed. He had done everything in his power to avoid festive moments like these. Somehow, the Fates had conspired together and decided to punish him with every caring friend he could possibly not want. He couldn't help but feel thankful.

"Don't get too nice on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Grumpy."

"Are you referring to me as the dwarf from Snow White?"

"And if I was?"

"Then I'm planning to find a cliff to jump off of."

"All you have to do is tell me when and where. We can sell tickets and split the profit fifty-fifty."

"Christ, you can base your retirement fund on the amount you're going to make."

"Dave, is that low self-esteem I hear?"

"Save me the speech, Dickerson. The crazies are in the kitchen."

"With cake?"

"Why is it every woman wants cake?"

Mia rolled her eyes and smiled. "Never get married again," she advised. "You obviously know nothing about females. Wait, scratch that. You obviously know nothing about the human race in general."

He opened his mouth to reply when he was, once again, interrupted by another knock. Mia indicated for him to answer it before she made her way towards the kitchen, gift in hand.

David steeled himself before nearly tearing the door from the hinges and being greeted with a "Hey" that was thick with country twang. "You look like you'd rather be swimmin' in a pool of crushed glass than be at this party," Bobby observed.

"Daphne bought Sesame Street plates," David replied. Bobby needed no further explanation; his sympathetic wince was a clear indication that he felt David's pain. "Ouch. That's a blow to your manhood if I've ever seen one."

"And Star Trek cups," David finished.

"Did Archie wet himself?"

"No, but he was drooling."

"Don'tcha worry. I won't tell anyone at work."

"It's not you I'm worried about," David muttered, opening the door further to grant Bobby entrance. "I think Mia's taking pictures of this catastrophe."

"In that case," Bobby sighed. "You're screwed. But look on the bright side-"

"There's no bright side, Bobby. I'm in hell."

"Who knew there were Sesame Street plates in hell?"

"Daphne, obviously. I have a feeling she's the devil's spawn anyway."

"A sweet girl like that?"

"Bobby, Damien's parents thought he was sweet in The Omen. Guess what happened?"

Bobby laughed as David pointed him to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. He was about the slam the door and bolt it to the wall with planks and nails when he caught sight of Ronnie rushing down the hall, similar to the evening before. He sucked in a deep, patient breath. It wasn't as if he didn't want Ronnie there, but Nick was going to arrive in –what?- forty-five minutes? There was no way he could get them all out in such a short amount of time.

"Hey Dave. Happy bir-''

"We're using Sesame Street plates, Star Trek cups, and I live among heathens. Laugh and you die. Get inside."

"Not much of a host, are you, Dave?" Ronnie asked as he produced a yellow envelope with an exaggerated flourish. "Happy thirty-ninth."

"Please tell me there's a one way ticket to Hawaii in here," David pleaded as he took the envelope and led the other man inside.

"Close. It's a five dollar bill and coupon for Pizza Hut."

"Ronnie, your style and class have no limits."

"Hey, I could've just given you the coupon."

…

Between Ms. Rainey's palm readings and Archie's talk of _Space Trek_ to a riveted Daphne, David had almost –_almost_- forgotten that Nick was going to show up until he heard a tap on his door and, without even looking to see who it was, ripped it open. His nerves were frayed to the point of no return; opening presents was always an embarrassing experience, but what Jacqui had bought him was so perverse that he was still blushing and refusing to allow anyone in his bedroom, where he had quickly tossed the item from Ms. Rainey's view.

He had nearly expected it to be their good-for-nothing landlord telling them to keep it down or Weldon in 2G with another complaint. For one horrifying moment, he even considered whether or not Jacqui would have the guts to hire another male stripper (David was still trying to suppress the memories from _last_ year.) but quickly squashed the thought.

In the end, it was none of those people. It was Nick. Standing there. In his apartment doorway.

David's mouth went dry.

Nick gave him a grin while the technician saw his life flash before his eyes. Lord in Heaven, what had he done to deserve this?

"David Hodges, are those _people_ in your apartment? If you hadn't of answered the door, I would've sworn I'd gotten the address wrong."

"It's remarks like those that get your evidence pushed to the bottom of the pile, Stokes."

"I'll keep that in mind." Nick took another glance towards the crazy scene before giving him a curious look. David closed his eyes, Greg and Jacqui's repulsive rendition of _One Way Or Another _polluting the background with noise. "Can I ask what's going on?"

"No, you can't. Pretend you're incapable of speaking."

"Sorry to bust your bubble, but I've spent way too much time with Greg. 'Incapable of speaking' doesn't register with me."

"And for that, you have my deepest sympathies." He paused a moment before surrendering himself to the inevitable and humiliating disaster that was his life. "We're celebrating the day my existence officially began," he confessed. "Translation: I'm stuck here with supposed friends who've forced me to eat cake and act happy."

"Birthday," Nick guessed. "And for that, you have _my_ deepest sympathies. I'm guessing you didn't know about the entire shebang until it was too late?"

David gave him a rueful smile before leaning against the doorframe, somewhat exhausted. "I walked in and was met with Sanders's bad decorating skills and Jacqui's cake obsession. If I'd have known, I would've stayed at the lab and slept on an uncomfortable couch in an abandoned office somewhere."

Nick laughed at the words before giving David another small smile and holding up the case files that were now useless. "I'd be more than happy to come back another time," he offered. "Far be it for me to disturb your annual contact with the outside world."

"I see you've been picking up Sanders's bad jokes again," David replied. "And I'll have you know that I happen to have a healthy human-contact schedule."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Nick retorted. He took a small step back and nodded towards the elevator hallway. "I guess I'll see you later."

There was a silence between them and David realized that he didn't _want_ him to go, but the alternative option of allowing him to meet his co-workers and neighbors was out of the question. Nick knew Ronnie and Jacqui and the rest of the technicians, of course, but he wasn't aware of the apocalypse-fearing Ronnie and male stripper-hiring Jacqui. Plus, he would die before he let him see the Sesame Street plates. No. That was where he drew the line.

However, all lines were moved and altogether erased when someone brushed past David and entered the hallway, wearing a dorky party hat that said 'Thirty nine and still fine!' on the front. The cold terror that struck his heart couldn't be explained in mere words when David saw that it wasn't level-headed Mia or remotely-normal Bobby that was wanting to meet the newcomer; it was save-the-whales-and-stop-war Daphne who couldn't plumb worth a flip and who had a personality as big as the sun with a mouth to match.

Daphne froze when she saw Nick before turning and wiggling her eyebrows at David suggestively.

"Well, well, well. Who've you been hiding from me, Dave? He's a cutie."

David felt the floor spin beneath his feet as he abruptly walked towards her, wondering what heavy object he could use to knock her unconscious.

"The name's Daphne Davis," she said, sticking out her hand to a surprised Nick. "Tuba player extraordinare. I play for birthdays, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, funerals, dances, cookouts, reunions, lectures, holidays, concerts, musicals-''

"He gets the idea, Daph, but he was just leaving."

"Really?" she asked, clearly disappointed that she wouldn't be able to meet some more of her neighbor's friends. "That's the pits. Listen, you have anywhere you need to be? We have the _best_ cake in there. It's so light that you don't realize you've eaten any until you climb on the scale next month."

Nick, evidently amused by David's choice in friends, shook her hand. "That's real sweet of you to ask, but-''

"No 'buts', mister. I'm sure you've got a couple minutes to spare, right? Do you work the same shift as David?"

Nick nodded and she visibly brightened at the news. "Awesome! That means no work for sixteen more blissful hours."

"I don't want to invi-''

"Nonsense," she scoffed, snatching Nick's arm and pulling him inside. "Get in here. Dave needs contact with another sane person anyway. Lord knows the rest of us don't fit in that category!"

"But I-''

"Hey Ms. R! Come look who I found!" Daphne called, waving to an elderly woman across the room once she had closed the door behind them. Nick looked appropriately terrified while David was inwardly panicking. His neighbors knew way too much personal information and too many mortifying stories to be allowed contact with a co-worker such as Nick Stokes. They would have to be silenced. Where did he keep the cyanide again?

"Really," the Texan began, "I don't want to invite myself-''

"If me physically dragging you in here wasn't indication enough, you're fully invited. Mingle and tell me about yourself," Daphne said, grinning at David's stunned silence. When did this happen? _How_ had this happened? Why hadn't he just volunteered to work some overtime at the lab?

"Hey Nicky!" Greg called, waving at him cheerfully from across the room. Nick uncertainly returned the gesture before quickly stepping back. David, noting the movement, halted any escape plans Nick might have had by putting his hand against the Texan's back and pushing him forwards again, ignoring the way his fingers tingled when he made contact with the other man.

"Did I do something wrong?" Nick asked, lowering his voice so as to not to offend Daphne as she eagerly led him to a white haired woman occupying a dining room chair. "Because this seems like a punishment or something."

David put on a sweet smile. "If I'm stuck here, then so are you. Grin and bear it."

It only took a moment to weave through the small crowd before the trio found Ms. Rainey setting out the shameful paper cups, helpfully filling them with different beverages.

"Ms. R, this is Nick Stokes from David's work," the young woman introduced. "I found him and Dave talking in the hallway."

"Talking in the hallway?" Ms. Rainey asked, smiling pleasantly. "Then are you his new beau? My husband always used to secretly visit me in my old building in New York. Oh, but that was quite a while ago and I see suitors still haven't changed their tactics. It's so sweet you'd want to see him on his birthday."

David, who had unconsciously picked up one of the soda-filled _Star Trek_ cups as the introductions were made, choked on a mouthful of Sprite. What had she just said? _What_ had she just said?

Daphne quickly turned towards him, her eyes wide. He frantically waved his right hand, signaling for the conversation to cease while Nick stood as still as stone, processing the new information and trying his best not to appear completely struck. Daphne, who knew that not everyone was aware of David's preferences, sent him an anxious look, as if silently asking _Did he know about you?_

Judging by the desperate way David was trying to free his airway of the beverage to protest Ms. Rainey's ramblings, it seemed that Nick _had_ been unaware, "had" being the operative word. This meant he knew and could tell anyone his heart desired. David felt a small part of himself die while his dignity went scampering away to find a dark corner to hide in.

Nick, having regained the presence of mind to speak, gave the mature woman a charming smile, evidently trying to adjust to the new situation. "Apartment buildings, huh? Sounds romantic."

She turned a faint shade of pink and put her hand to her mouth, letting out a laugh at the memory. "He was quite the sweet talker, bless his soul. My father hated him, mind you, but he was so determined that he would take anything Father said with a polite nod of his head. You remind me so much of him. Tell me, have you and David been dating long?"

David, having cleared his lungs of liquid, began choking on his own oxygen. Could the woman not see he was about to pass out due to her over-active mouth? Was shaking is head hysterically in attempt to close the subject not indication enough? What would he have to do, rent out a billboard? Take an ad out in the paper? Shoot her with a tranquilizer dart?

"Tell me, Nick," Daphne swiftly interrupted, smearing on a this-is-so-uncomfortable smile and preventing Ms. Rainey from saying another word. "Are you a technician too?"

David felt that the only fortunate part of the entire mess was that Nick was a genuinely good guy and wouldn't keep the subject going if it was distressing to anyone involved. And David was more than just distressed; he was flat-out mortified. Nick courteously answered the query with a shake of his head.

"I'm a CSI three." Cue charming smile. "I usually give my evidence to Hodges."

"Hodges?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Why do you call him that?"

There was a silence between them as the question hung in the air. Some questions were easy to answer, like 'What's the meaning of life?' and 'Why are we here?' Daphne's inquiry, however, seemed to perplex him. David took a claming breath. All he needed was one decent distraction, one basic diversion that would get Nick back to the elevator and preferably the parking lot. Maybe if he-

"Okay everyone!" Jacqui called, quickly silencing the room. David let out a groan; this _wasn't_ the distraction he had in mind.

They were going to _sing._

"I think we all know what's coming next. Before we can eat any of Ms. Rainey's delightful baking, we have to exercise our vocal chords with a little song."

David glared at her smug smile. Damn that woman! She _knew_ how much he hated it; couldn't they just skip this part? He was going to get his revenge for this; some serious retribution would have to be plotted. It was beyond the island cannibals and volcanoes. It was war.

"Want me to hide you?" Nick asked, his voice barely a whisper of Jacqui's. David resisted the immediate and natural urge to jump twenty feet into the air, especially when he was so close. "Judging by the look on your face, this isn't your favorite part."

"You divert them while I make a break for it," David whispered in return, all but patting himself on the back when he heard his reasonably even voice.

"I don't know," Nick mused, humor lacing his tone. "A wise man once told me to grin and bear it."

"I've changed my mind. Even wise men know when it's time to run for the hills."

In the front of the room, Jacqi flicked her index finger upwards, giving an upbeat. Bobby's country twang, Ms. Rainey's soft voice, Jacqui's smug soprano; nine voices combined to create the worst harmonized version of _Happy Birthday_ ever heard by the human ear. David winced. One day, hopefully very far in the future, Grissom was going to go deaf. And while it would suck 99.9 percent of the time, it was moments like these that he would be counting his blessings.

When the song was finally over, everyone hooted and hollered. Bobby ceremoniously handed David a box of matches. Because they knew what happened when they blew on food (Mia hadn't spared them any grisly details) Jacqui had created an alternative. She went out, bought a box of matches, and decorated it with glitter, construction paper, and stickers, dubbing it the Official Birthday Box. When one of their birthdays came up, they would have a cake but wouldn't light candles. Instead, the person would make a wish, strike a match, and quickly blow it out. It was technically the same tradition; they just happened to avoid the part where billions of germs were spread all over their chow.

"Here ya go, Dave," Bobby said. David sighed, taking the box. This was completely ridiculous, so why didn't he mind?

He slid the box open and took a match, aware of Nick's inquisitive gaze. If the technician's reputations were bad already, they were going to be the pits by tomorrow evening. CSIs shouldn't be allowed to see the inner workings of a technician's world; they were two separate species and should remain that way. He made the move to strike it before Greg cut in.

"Dave, you've got to make a wish. You're just going to try and get it over with so we'll all stop staring at you like one of Grissom's bugs, aren't you?"

Well, that _had_ been his master plan before Greg called him on it. "What if I wished that you'd suddenly disappear and leave me alone?" David muttered. Greg gave him a crooked grin before answering, "Then it wouldn't come true because you told us what it was."

David shot him a dark look before pausing a moment, closing his eyes and quickly making a wish (the basic 'world peace' wish that he made every year) before lighting the match and immediately blowing it out. Applause filled the room before for the crux of the evening was _finally_ introduced (the crazed look in Daphne, Mia, and Jacqui's eyes gave it away): cake.

Because despite the stress and embarrassment about the entire thing, David had to admit that Ms. Rainey was damn good at baking.

…

Half an hour later found David in the corner of his dining room, studying the way the rest of his guests were enjoying each other's company. David watched as Mr. Bernard Shaw brought in his record player for some background music, having dropped in a few minutes after the group had serenaded the second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex with their wince-worthy version of _Happy Birthday_.

"_I wanted to stop by and see what the fuss was about."_

"_Did we disturb you?"_

"_Me? Aw, no. Just wanted to let you know that I heard the most God-awful singin' and I was pretty sure it was comin' from here." _

"_They decided to throw me a party and singing was part of the deal. You're welcome to join._"

"_Son, you don't need me. What you need is some _real _music._"

Carter (_the_ Carter from 2L) had knocked twenty minutes later, awkwardly wondering what was going on and offering to supply some alcoholic beverages if the need arose. The good manners Jacqui had been instilling in David the past few years had reared their ugly heads and he had found himself inviting Carter inside while simultaneously wishing his living room floor would collapse, thus ending the insane get-together.

"_I –uh- have some wine if you guys need it."_

"_No wine's necessary. Come in if you'd like."_

"_I couldn't."_

"_No, I insist." _Beat. "_We have extra cake."_

"_I don't eat sugar."_

"_Then I have bread and water."_

"_I don't eat carbs."_

"_I have some celery you can gnaw on."_

"_Organically grown?"_

"_I'll see what I can do_."

The man had sprinted over to his apartment and grabbed a bottle of carrot juice, which he had been inclined to share with the rest of the crowd, before making himself at home. Ms. Rainey was speaking to Mia about the joy of MP3 players when she thought David couldn't hear her; Daphne and Jacqui were making sure the remainder of the birthday cake never saw the light of day. Bobby and Ronnie were fiddling with some techno gadget that Bobby had brought as his gift; it was a shame that David was certain he'd never use it.

David's train of thought was derailed when the man he'd desperately been trying to steer clear of plopped on the seat across from him. The Texan was wearing a dark pair of jeans (not that David had noticed) and a black t-shirt (not that David really cared) with a dark blue jean jacket. He looked totally composed and relaxed. David suddenly wished that the cup of carrot juice he'd been working on was vodka instead, because he had a feeling that being drunk was the only way he was going to be able to get through this conversation.

"Y'know," Nick began, "When I tell Warrick you've actually got a life outside of work, he's going to keel over and die."

"As pleasant as that thought is," David replied, shooting Nick a pointed look, "You tell him about this, _you're_ the one who's going to die."

It was all David could really think to say at the moment. Nick had been floating around, quickly making friends with complete strangers and David had avoided him as best he could, given the rather small accommodations he had to work with. Nick continued speaking, ignoring David's threat. "Poor Doc's gonna do an examination and when I ask him what the COD is, he's gonna look at me very seriously and say, 'Shock.'"

"Is there a doctor in the house? I think I'm dying of laughter," David deadpanned.

Nick grinned. "I can't help it," he admitted, chuckling at the other man's icy gaze. "This is priceless."

David leaned in closer from across the table. "Stokes, I'm eating homemade banana cake made by my telepathic neighbor off of Sesame Street plates. I'm drinking carrot juice out of Star Trek cups. I was given fifty dollars in junk that I don't need and five dollars that I can actually use to pay a rent to a landlord I've grown to hate with a passion."

Nick smiled over his own cup of carrot juice. "I wish I could have added to your useless junk pile. If I'd have known it was your birthday, I really would have bought you something."

"Please. Your being here is a gift in itself."

"Your sarcasm doesn't escape me."

"I applaud your keen grasp of the obvious." There was a pause and David frowned, wishing he could simply sink into the floor. He didn't want to bring this up, but at the same time, he wanted it over with, even if he had to do it in the corner of his dining room while his friends and neighbors mingled among each other, laughing and carrying on.

"Stokes, what you heard today… I would appreciate if you kept it to yourself."

"You think I'm going to spread it around the lab?"

"I've seen how riled up Warrick can get you. You've blurted out your share of secrets."

"Your preferences are safe with me, man. However, I can't guarantee how quiet Mia's going to be about these plates," Nick said, indicating the wretched Oscar the Grouch eyesores with a nod of his head and promptly dropping the issue of David's sexuality. "I think she's planning to steal one and tape it up on a lab wall somewhere. How'd you ever get these, anyway?"

David rolled his eyes. "You can thank the tuba player. She was influenced by a certain blonde CSI who calls himself my buddy, pal, and amigo, none of which are accurate descriptions."

Nick grinned at David's negative tone. "Know what I think? I think despite these atrocious plates, Greg and Daphne definitely had their heart in the right place. And besides, don't tell me you aren't having a minimal amount of fun."

"I was outted by a sixty-six year old woman who has all of Duran Duran's songs stored on her iPod," David answered, his voice conveying that it had _not_, in fact, been a good day for him and he was _not_ (by any stretch of the imagination) having a good time.

Nick hesitated a moment before nodding, if only to humor the battered technician. "True, but it can't be that bad," he prodded. "These people aren't just here for the cake, you know? They're here for you."

David looked into his crowded living room and allowed the voices of the people who honestly cared for him fill his ears. Despite the plates, the outing, the bad singing, and the fact he had a whole mess to clean up when they finally left, the day could have still been much worse. He turned back to his one-man audience and gave him a small but genuine smile.

"Today wasn't a complete waste of my life," he confessed, meeting Nick's deep brown eyes and, unlike the last time, not looking away.

"Yeah?" Nick smiled again, but it was somehow different, more private and personal and shy. "It's wasn't a complete waste of mine either."

_I don't know what to  
think about-  
It's just something that's  
been on my mind._

_On My Mind, _Athenaeum

TBC.

A/T: Yes, it's slow in progression but I'm relentless! Any suggestions? Feel free to add input. I have some hijinks up my sleeve and then the smooching can begin!


	6. Wherein Nana Steps In

A/T: Thanks for all your enthusiasm for this story. Your wonderful reviews keep me going!

As some lovely readers pointed out, yes, Nick and Dave is a slow progression. Trust me: in the end, you'll like it much more this way. After all, would either of our boys just pop out of bed one day with an insane attraction to each other? Nah. Besides, isn't the journey as fun as the destination?

Oh, and please understand that the casefile I'm trying to write here isn't the best. It's more of a background to the technician's lives and the David/Nick storyline; I could probably do better with it, but it would take a lot longer to get the chapters out and it would probably interfere with the main plot anyway. For those who are sticklers about that sort of thing, forgive me. I'm aware of the its lousiness, but I fear it won't get any better than this, case wise.

Disclaimer: Alas, 'tis not mine. My bank account proves thus! (proudly I'm taking a Lit class! -laughs-)

Dedicated: You know who you guys are! (If not, see chapter 5.) You're my amazing friends and critics, without whom I'd never have made it this far with my writing. I hope I'm as good a friend to you guys as you are to me.

Snapshots  
Act 6: Wherein Nana Steps In and David Learns The Steps To A Successful Day

Tonight was going to be normal.

That's the very first thing David promised himself when _Night on Bald Mountain_ woke him via tuba, as was the ordinary custom.

Tonight was going to be simple.

They didn't need him on the case anymore and he was going to run trace, because that was his job.

Tonight was going to be trouble-free.

No eye contacts, no panty hose, no birthdays.

For the first two minutes of his evening, everything was going just as he hoped it would. There were no calls from various neighbors as he crossed the parking lot. There was no need for an emergency hospital visit as he entered through the glass doors. There wasn't the slightest talk of banana cake as he made his way down the hallway.

He honestly, _honestly_ thought it would stay that way.

And it did.

Until he saw the goat in his lab.

…

"I told you I have no idea what the goat's doing there, David. What do I have to do, spell it out for you?"

"You don't _know_? Bobby said that you're the one who brought it in!" David snapped back, beyond irritated. This was crossing every professional line; there was _no_ way Grissom would leave a goat in his lab and fail to inform him about it, right? Sure, his boss had infected Greg with mildew and ate bugs and actually _enjoyed_ roller coaster rides, but… crap. David grimaced as the facts rapidly presented themselves in his mind. Grissom _would_ store a goat in David's lab without a second thought.

"Hey, Bobby didn't say anything," Bobby countered as they strode towards the break room, David in serious need of coffee and Jacqui craving a Three Musketeers. "Bobby merely noted that a woman who looked alarmingly like Jacqui Franco happened to escort a goat to your lab. Whether or not that woman was actually Jacqui is still up for debate."

"You squealer!" Jacqui cried accusingly. "You actually _told_ David you saw me?" Beat. "And why are you speaking in third person?" she asked, her voice still as angry but her question more illogical, as if she had every right to seethe whenever someone spoke in any tense beside the first.

"I didn't mention specific names," Bobby countered, looking understandably nervous. "Besides, you should have seen him. The man was about to rip someone's head off!"

"I'm still here, you know," David interrupted, shooting daggers at Bobby as they continued down the hall. "And I wasn't going to rip someone's head off. I merely resented the fact that I was stuck with the farm animal."

"All Grissom would say was that the goat was evidence," Archie interrupted, hoping to calm the inevitable skirmish that threatened to break out. "And he said that you're the one who's going to be taking care of it, so he asked Jacqui to haul it to your lab."

"Evidence?" David asked, completely exasperated. "Arch, do you know what that thing _smells_ like? It's like a walking dumpster."

Jacqui rolled her eyes as she tore open the break room door, the four technicians noting that said room was empty; an empty break room always meant that they could continue their conversation without fear of being fired due to the content, but David resented the fact that CSIs could bicker as much as they wanted while technicians lived under another set of rules. They had every right to argue if they wanted to, whether or not their boss approved. CSIs did it all the time. Besides, wasn't a good shouting match healthy every once in a while?

"Don't be such a wuss," Jacqui said as she began digging through her pockets in search of seventy-five cents.

"I'm not a wuss, I'm a human being with a functional nose who happens to not want a goat cluttering up my lab. Is it too much to ask for a normal night?" David replied as he found Greg's "hidden" coffee. (Honestly, whom did Greg think he was fooling? David made it a point to know where Greg's new weekly hiding spot was; after all, he certainly couldn't go back to Sara's brown sludge.)

"When working here, then yes. Can't you just deal with it?"

"That's high and mighty coming from someone who works a hallway away. If you're so keen on that God-forsaken animal, then _you_ take care of it."

"I don't want the goat!"

"Then help me find an abandoned office or something."

"But she's so cute, Dave. She'll get lonely all by herself."

"Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. Fuzzy baby ducks are cute, but that goat, Jacqui Franco, is _not_ cute," Bobby replied, shaking his head. "It's-''

"Adorable. I mean, did you _see_ it?" she asked, now beginning to dig through her lab coat pockets. "Those big brown eyes? That little nose? Those floppy ears?"

"I smelt it from the parking lot! I don't need to know what it looks like," David replied, the coffee machine shining like a beacon of hope. "But I know that I don't want it where I'm trying to work."

"Fine. Then what do you suggest we do, put a hit out on it?" Jacqui asked, rolling her eyes. "What hired assassin would shoot a goat?"

"A desperate one," Archie replied, sarcasm coloring his voice. "'Wanted: trained killer desperate enough to shoot cute animals.' Hey, we could start a pool. I'll pitch in five bucks. I bet by the end of shift, we'd have at _least_ twenty dollars. I've heard they've killed for less."

"Did you completely miss the abandoned office suggestion I made? There's got to be a room in this building that no one's using."

"David, you know as well as I do that this place is packed. You know the old bathroom, the one where it overflowed so much that Greg had to pee in the bushes once? It's a storage closet now."

Archie wrinkled his nose. "Really? Yuck."

"You can say that again," Jacqui agreed before letting out an irritated sigh. "I can't believe I don't have any change!"

Bobby and Archie exchanged panicked looks before simultaneously searching through their pockets and wallets, frantic to scrounge up seventy-five cents. David ignored their hunt in favor of pouring himself a cup of coffee and continued speaking.

"Everyone can handle a weird night every once in a while. Grissom experimented on dead pigs and then there was Greg's toilet test and that guy who dressed up as a cat. That was a bizarre night, by the way, but a damn goat? Jesus Christ, if I had anything to say about it, I'd-''

"You'd what, Hodges?"

Jacqui, her fingers frozen over the snack machine buttons and David, who was stewing by the coffee maker, froze. Archie and Bobby, who had been pawing through the fridge, did the same. That voice sounded frighteningly familiar.

"I was just handing out the evening's assignments when I couldn't help but overhear that you have a problem with your visitor," said a cool voice. David blinked. How the hell did Grissom do that? It wasn't _natural_ for one man to be able to sneak up on unsuspecting individuals and stop their heart from beating.

He turned to see the graveyard shift standing in the doorway, looking at the four technicians with inquiring eyes. Catherine had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly entertained. Sara and Warrick were doing what could only be described as _laughing_ behind her. And Nick? David inwardly cringed, not wanting to know what Nick was thinking at that moment, although it was probably along the lines of _David Hodges is _such_ an idiot. _The Texan looked amused, as if waiting to see what brilliant thing David was going to do to get himself out of another fine mess.

"How long have you been standing there?" David asked, giving them a calm look, trying to appear as dignified as possible while his other three comrades were looking appropriately unsettled.

Step 1: Don't visibly panic at being overheard by your boss.

Step 2: Don't get fired.

Step 3: If Step 1 and Step 2 fail, make a break for it. Climb on top of the vending machines, bust through the ceiling, crawl through the air ducts, and get to the roof. Scale the front wall of the lab building, make a dash for your car, and start driving to… Florida. Yeah, Florida sounds good. Change your name and live under the government radar for a few years. By then, maybe Grissom won't recognize you and you could get your job back.

"Oh, I'd say long enough to know that you aren't too keen on the goat."

"As a matter of fact, no," David replied, ignoring the way Bobby shook his head, as if to say _Adios, Dave. It was nice working with you_. "It's noisy, it reeks and-" He paused a moment. He had never actually demanded anything from his boss before, but then again, he lived on the wild side of life. After all, if putting your faith in the lab's cafeteria food wasn't death defying, he didn't know what was. Asking a sane request of your employer couldn't be that large of a career faux pas, could it? "I want it out."

"It's not an 'it', Hodges, it's a 'she'. Her name's Nana and she's your latest project," Grissom replied, arching The Eyebrow. God, not The Eyebrow! How many times had he fallen victim to The Eyebrow's powerful ability to persuade?

"Project? What, do I need to test her DNA?"

Sara and Warrick exchanged looks before trying to hide their grins behind their assignment sheets. He sent them a suspicious glance before returning his gaze to Grissom. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to get the bad end of the deal, whatever it was.

"Close," Grissom replied, his own small smile tugging at his lips. "We found Nana at the restaurant scene that we've been trying to clean up and it came to our attention that she might have eaten some evidence pertaining to the case."

Wait a minute- this didn't sound good. This didn't sound good at all.

"And?"

"And all we're waiting for her to do is… pass the evidence. When she does, your job is to extract any foreign matter and run a sample to compare to DNA."

Was that Catherine laughing in the background? What a cheap shot.

"So you want him to go through goat crap to look for our killer's hair?" Jacqui asked, her eloquence taking a short vacation. Actually, that might have been too kind of a time frame. Jacqui's eloquence had never made a starring role in her life, just a cameo for when the Sheriff came sniffing around on occasion.

"Preferably fingernails," Grissom replied. "Hair would probably be useless by the time it got to the stomach acid, but fingernails are strong enough to come out in tact."

Some people sat at computers all day. Others crunched numbers throughout the night. But David Hodges led a life less ordinary.

Tonight, he was going through goat crap.

…

"Please don't do this to me."

Exactly three hours and seventeen minutes had passed since his humiliating encounter in the break room and quite frankly, David wasn't at all enthused with the prospect of showing his face in the general vicinity of said room again. Between running his usual caseload and waiting for Nana to do her business, he had too much time to recount the mortifying experience of having the entire graveyard shift know of his daunting task. What made it worse was that he was probably the center of a lot of jokes that night that involved crap, among other things. Where had his stress-free evening disappeared to?

Either way, the coffee from three hours and seventeen minutes ago had long since left him and he was grappling for another energy boost. So instead of his usual trip to the soda machine in the break room, he took a left turn down his lab's hallway to hunt down a much older machine, one that he often had difficulties with. Not two minutes ago, he had fed the demon machine his one dollar only to have it deny him his Coke. Could this evening get any worse?

"Come on," he pleaded, as if perhaps the Soda God would hear his desperate plea for carbonated beverages. "I have a goat in my lab and quite possibly the worst week of my life to deal with. All I want is a Coke. Can you do that?"

The soda machine, like sinks, was unresponsive to his order. With a small sigh, he gave the machine a kick, aware that it wouldn't be of any use but it always made him feel better.

"I don't have another dollar! Why do you want more money anyway? Is this about the sodas I've been stealing?" That had to be it. The machine not only wanted retribution, but it also sought the eight dollars and fifty cents David owed in stolen Coca Cola Company goods.

"Fine. Let's start this again. I'll pay and you give. How about it?"

No response. He pressed the Coke button again.

"So what, are you _out_ of Coke?" He then pressed the Sunkist and the Dr. Pepper knobs as well. It was a fruitless endeavor on his part, because the machine wasn't empty; it was pissed.

"Do you want me to start stealing them again? I swear I'll do it."

Beat.

"Christ, what do you want from me? I don't have fifty cents and I don't have another dollar. I already gave you my money. And what the hell good is the return change lever if you don't return change?"

He was about to tackle the mechanical monstrosity (that, or just steal another can) when he heard the calm question: "Do you talk to soda machines often, Hodges?"

"I decided to see if it would work. You seemed to think so when you were alone with that sink," David replied, thankful for his quick reply when, in reality, he had wanted to jump a good five feet into the air and screech like a girl. What was it with CSIs and their 'I feel like giving someone a heart attack today!' complex? David's heart had already stopped once that night and he wasn't craving a repeat performance.

"Touché. I don't suppose I can offer you two quarters, can I?" Nick asked, approaching David with what could only be described as an amused expression. Why did his misery make everyone else so happy?

"And have that huge debt hanging over my head for the rest of my life? Don't even think about it."

"Dude, it's fifty cents. I think I can spare it."

"I know you can, but it's a lot more fun if I go bother Jacqui about it instead. She'll give me ten bucks just to shut up."

"Hodges…"

"I'm not taking your money."

With a roll of his eyes, Nick strode over to the vending unit and easily inserted two quarters. He punched the Coke selection and (because he'd probably never stolen anything in his life) there was a clunk before he stooped and extracted a cold, tempting can of Coca Cola that had David's name written all over. (Not _literally_ written, but that wasn't the point.)

"Oh, look," Nick deadpanned. "I was buying a drink for myself and accidentally pushed the wrong button. I don't like Coke. My mistake."

He handed it to David who, after a moment, grudgingly accepted the offer.

"I'm paying you back for this."

"Hodges, it's a _soda_. It's not going to be a huge blow to my paycheck, y'know?"

"No, I don't know. It's not like I sign your paychecks. How am I supposed to know what your income is?"

"You've got to make everything so complicated. Sometimes people _want_ to be nice to you."

They turned and began towards his lab once more; it felt rather strange to be walking down the hallway with Nick Stokes for the entire lab to see, especially since they appeared to be having a friendly conversation, not a question and answer session. It wasn't as if he and Nick were particularly close and technicians rarely hung out with CSIs anyway, so for someone as unpopular and disliked as David Hodges to be in the presence of someone as admired and highly regarded as Nick Stokes was bizarre, if not unnatural. David supposed he should have felt proud at breaking the laws of nature as the human race understood them, but he felt more pathetic than anything.

"Oh really? I'm sure that's what the soda machine from hell thinks too."

"I doubt it was intentionally trying to deny you your Coke, Hodges. I'm sure the coin return function was just stuck."

"That thing's mocking me because it's _alive_ and no matter how many rational theories you dream up, it won't change the fact."

"Then why didn't you just use the one in the break room?"

"And show my face there again? What do I look like, an idiot?" Pause. "Don't answer that."

Nick shook his head as he propped open the lab door for the other man, indicating for the technician to enter first.

"I could have done that myself, you know," David said, not crossing the threshold.

"Once again, this "nice" thing is a blindingly new concept for you, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying that I'm not incapable. I'm fully skilled at the art of pulling the door handle."

"Do you really wanna fight about who opens the door first? I'm just using my basic manners here, man."

"So was I," David replied. "As a matter of fact, _I_ was going to hold the door open for _you_ because I've always been under the impression that ladies went first."

Nick paused for a moment before sending David a mock glare. "Are you calling me a lady?"

David merely sent him a cheeky grin before ducking into his lab and striding towards the main evidence counter, making sure his soda was set away from the equipment. Nick followed, bending to give Nana a reassuring scratch between the ears. He sent David a smile, who was currently looking at the animal as if perhaps it was some sort of carnivorous beast.

"She's kind of sweet, you know? Be careful or you'll get attached to her," Nick said, grinning at the face David made in response.

"Stokes, have you ever seen me get attached to anything?" the technician asked as he glanced at the endearing animal before quickly looking away. He was beginning to understand what Jacqui was saying; the brute was rather lovable if you could hold your breath long enough.

"Aw, see? She's looking at you."

Indeed, the goat was sitting and looking up at David with the biggest doe eyes he'd ever seen. She simply wasn't playing fair.

"I resent any creature whose feces matter I'm going to have to go through. That's just the way I am," David defended, hoping he sounded somewhat believable.

"I still think she likes you," Nick said, grinning as the goat rose and walked over to David, it's tiny hoof-like feet clacking against the tile floor. Nana bent her head and nudged David's knee in an affectionate manner. He quickly jumped backwards in the most masculine way he could manage.

"It touched me," he said, unable to hide his childishness. Daphne thought David to be fearless, but he had lived in L.A. most of his life. He laughed in the face of traffic, was victorious in the presence smoggy skies, and often made conversation with the weekly burglar that looted his apartment, but cute animals were a rarity in that particular city. Quite frankly, he wasn't prepared for it.

"Hodges, she wants to be your friend," Nick explained. "Pet her, she won't bite."

"I don't think so. She only wants me for this shiny, appetizing tin can I'm holding," David replied, referring to his Coke can with a tilt of his head while making his way to the other side of the counter. "Aren't goats supposed to eat anything that won't move, Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy?"

Nick laughed. "Y'know, I've been called a lot of things, but 'Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy' was never one of them."

"I like to make things interesting, Stokes. Variety is the spice of life and all."

The Texan shook his head before walking over to the already-frazzled technician. "You know, my name's Nick."

"I must have missed that part in the three years we've been working together."

Nick smiled as he led Nana back to her corner, making sweet sounds and rubbing her head in a comforting manner. "I meant that you can call me Nick. Stokes is my last name and 'Texas Cattle Ranch Farm Boy' is just my designated label."

"So we're on a first-name basis now?" David asked, trying to appear completely composed. What was Nick saying?

Nick shrugged. "I don't call Bobby 'Dawson' and I don't call Jacqui 'Franco'. Seems kinda impersonal to call you 'Hodges' when you're name's David."

"Well, _Nick_, that sounds like an offer I can't refuse. And don't get sweet on this goat, either. That beast is gone the moment its usefulness is spent."

"Okay then," Nick said, smiling charmingly. "I'll just have to find something else to get sweet on."

Before David could even begin thinking of an appropriate comeback; before he could even really understand what the CSI had meant, Nick began speaking once more, as if trying to disregard his last comment. "Anyway, there's a reason I tracked you down."

"I didn't figure it was for my charming company alone. What's the ulterior motive?"

"You're out in the field tonight."

David blinked and then blinked again. Was that his life he saw flashing before his eyes? The first time he'd been in the field, the Sheriff had nearly skinned him alive. The second time, Greg had irritated him to his wits end. The third time was either the charm or the clincher and he had a terrible feeling that it was going to be the latter.

"Field? What happened to the goat project?"

"Gris said she won't go until about five hours from now. They shoved so many tracing chemicals down that poor animal's throat that she won't have ever have a normal cycle again."

"So now she's crapping hazardous material and you _still_ want me to go through it? Can't we call HAZMAT and get it over with?"

"I'll meet you at the front door in five minutes," Nick answered, silently stating that _yes_, David was going out on the field and _yes_, he was going to return and go through goat crap whether he liked it or not. "We're tracking down the last person who owned Nana. If we can get the owner, we might get our killer. You up to it?"

"I don't suppose your asking means I have a choice?"

"No way. Besides, wouldn't Jacqui jump at a chance like this?"

"Why don't you go ask her? I'm sure she'd be ready and willing to pack up and head out."

"That's a tempting offer, David," Nick replied, smiling. "But Gris has a reason for everything he does. Maybe one day he'll explain why he thinks you're the prime candidate for partnering up with me."

"And the Devil's building snow forts in hell," David sighed. "Not a chance."

"So go with it. Besides, who'd you rather hang out with? Me or Nana?"

"I don't know," David mused. "Nana has the average intelligence of her species. I can't say the same for you."

"With lines like that, it's no wonder you're so popular around here," Nick replied, sending him a grin before quickly exiting the lab.

David, unable to reply, collapsed onto his seat next to his evidence table, trying to process the sudden tornado of information. Really, after three years, he shouldn't be surprised that CSIs would start calling him by his first name. What a novel idea! Still, it felt strange that he and Nick would be on such… friendly terms. And going out on the field? _Again?_ He took another swig of his well-deserved Coke before inadvertently catching Nana's gaze, who was staring with her big, brown eyes, as if asking a silent question.

"What?" he snapped. "It's not as if I like him that much."

Stare. The goat wasn't buying it. "Okay, so maybe I do. It's not like you have anything to say about it."

Nana stared before rising up and walking over to him, nudging his right knee with her head again.

"Don't get cute on me," he muttered, refusing to pet her. "I've decided to hate you and I plan to keep it that way."

She nudged his leg once more and he shook his head, as if maybe she'd get the point with such a gesture. "And don't do that. Go eat some garbage or something."

Nudge.

The damn beast _was_ cute.

"Fine, but if you tell anyone, you die," he muttered, bending to scratch her between her ears.

Step 4: Don't visibly panic at the thought of going out on the field with Nick. Sanders can do it, which means you can do it blindfolded with both hands tied behind your back.

Step 5: Don't make a fool of yourself in front of Nick, not that you care what he thinks of you anyway.

Step 6: Get out there, already!

…

"You're going out in the field again?" Greg's question was incredulous, filled with both accusation and amazement, as if David had deliberately gone behind his back to get another shot at wasting his evening away from his DNA lab. "I can't believe this! I had to fight tooth and nail to get a _shot_ at becoming a CSI and now you're getting _invited_?"

"Don't worry, Sanders," David said as he stored away his lab coat and grabbed his wallet and keys from his locker. "I'm not secretly trying to steal your title as lab rat traitor-''

"Hey!"

"-but I think Grissom would feel better knowing that someone was with Nick at all times."

"So what am I, chopped liver? And why did you just call Nick by his first name?"

"Although you've got the intelligence of chopped liver, no one thinks of you as such. And because 'Nick' _is_ his first name, genius."

"But you're a technician!" Greg argued, choosing to ignore the first name issue in favor of the 'tech out on the field' dilemma.

"And you're a moron. I thought we went over this already," David replied. "Look, Grissom and Catherine are paired up, you and Sidle are paired up, and Warrick's down at the morgue. And despite the fact that I'm not a fully certified CSI, I can take interview notes just as well as the next guy. I won't even be dusting for prints or using flashlights or whatever the hell it is you people do."

Greg sighed, not looking at all pleased with the recent developments. "You realize I'll never forgive you for this."

"If I'd have known that, I would have done this years ago."

"Oh, come on," Greg whined. "You've got to admit that this is way unfair! Do you know how long it took me to become a level one?"

"As a matter of fact yes. If I recall, you gave us a progress report _every day_ during your apprenticeship. So not only do I know how long it took you, I know what you did right, what you did wrong, how your first autopsy was, your first breakthrough case, your-"

"Okay, I get it," Greg muttered. "Maybe I over did it a little bit."

"A _little _bit? You left messages on our answering machines _on our days off_."

"I thought you cared about how I was doing."

"We did, but we wanted to do it from a safe distance."

"Oh, fine," Greg sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket dejectedly. "Seeing as you're not trying to steal my job and your support was one of the things that got me through my training, I guess you can go with Nick tonight."

David turned to his friend with wide, sardonic eyes. "You mean you're going to let me go?" he asked, mock relief in his voice. "Sanders, I don't know how to thank you. I consider it such an honor that you'd give _me_ permission to go out on the field."

"Bad choice of words on my part," Greg admitted, grinning. "What can I say? I don't want you showing me up when I'm the CSI and you're the-''

"Lowly, under appreciated technician? Stop while you're ahead."

"That's not what I meant."

"You know, I always thought that there was a level of intellect that no man could stoop below," David mused as he shut his locker door. "And then I met you."

"Ouch. That was a zinger, Dave."

"Can't let anyone think I'm getting soft. I have a reputation to protect, you know."

They approached the front door, Greg still laughing at David's comment, Nick waiting beside the glass doors. He sent them both a smile as they approached, watching them through his glasses.

"Did I miss something amusing?"

"Only Dave's quick wit," Greg replied, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders. "My little Davie's starting to mingle with the big guns. I think I'm going to cry from the sheer pride I feel."

"First of all, I'd appreciate if you'd kindly remove yourself from my person. Secondly, if you call me Davie again, I'll make your death look like an accident. And third, I've been out on the field before. It isn't exactly something to write home about."

"You just don't see the beauty in-''

"Dead bodies and decomp? No, I'm too busy retching in the corner from the smell."

Greg sighed and shook his head, aware that there was no way he could win their spar of words. "You take care of each other, okay?" he said, tightening his arms around David's shoulder. "Dave, if anyone even looks at Nick funny, shoot 'em. Nick, if David does anything stupid-''

"Not possible," David interrupted. "I'm not you, you know."

"Ah, the words of a true friend," Greg replied. "Anyway, you guys have fun. I get to take a Strip murder and listen to Sara grouch about her nonexistent love life. Then I get to gloat about Ryan while she gets angry about it, then she won't talk to me, then I'll refuse to apologize, and then it'll go downhill from there. In other words, I'm set for the night."

"Refuse to apologize to a woman? Are we allowed to do that?" David asked, genuinely curious. Greg looked thoughtful.

"It's not the wisest or safest course of action, but I think we might. Maybe." Greg looked troubled. "Actually, it might be our job to apologize whether or not we were right or wrong. Y'know, I'd better ask Jacqui."

"You do that. I'll make sure to say a few kind words at your funeral."

"Point taken. Maybe Jacqui isn't the best source to go to."

"Only if you're feeling suicidal," David advised. Greg grinned.

"That's just a chance I'm willing to take, Dave. You two be careful, okay?"

"See you later, G," Nick said, smiling at his friend. "Don't get Sara in too bad a mood or Jacqui'll be the least of your problems."

Nick pushed the door outwards and held it open, waiting for David to go through first. David made the motion to go forward, but Greg quickly pulled him back for one swift moment.

"He looks at you funny," the younger man whispered, his voice betraying nothing. Before David could even turn and begin to ask what in the world Greg was blathering about, the blonde was gone, zooming down the hall and making a left, hunting down either Sara, Jacqui, or a new hiding place for his coffee. David blinked before turning towards Nick, unsure on how to answer the inevitable 'What was that about?'

"What was that about?" Nick asked, as if on cue. "Did he just have a psychotic episode or something?"

"You know Sanders," David replied, hoping the subject would drop. "His usual personality and spastic episodes of insanity are nearly indistinguishable from each other."

He quickly joined Nick on the front steps of the crime lab, trying to decipher Greg's rushed and whispered words. _He looks at you funny._ What was that supposed to mean? And who was "he"? Nick? Nick looked at him funny? What, did Jacqui tape another "Kick me" sign on the back of his shirt again?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any unrelated thoughts to the case. The two men began towards the truck, Nick with his field kit and David with a casefile an inch thick.

"Should I introduce some rules of the field?" Nick asked conversationally as he pulled out the truck keys and unlocked the doors.

"Don't touch anything, write everything down, and keep witnesses apart. The Holy Trinity of crime scenes," David recited. "Trust me, I get the free "Greg Sanders's Educational Course on Crime Scenes" every morning at about one o'clock. He likes to delude himself into thinking that Jacqui and the rest of us would rather listen to him recount his evening than do our jobs."

"Right on," Nick laughed. "I'll thank Greg for saving me the trouble."

"Nick, I'm a quick learner. You tell me to not to touch anything, then I won't touch anything. You can, however, tell me where we're headed off to. Unless you want me to guess, which I'll gladly do in the spirit of law enforcement and justice."

"I see your sarcasm is full fledged tonight."

"I've got to vent somehow."

Nick sent him a smile that immediately shut down David's thought process. Sarcasm? What was that? "According to Gris, Nana's been passed through several pairs of hands until our killer got a hold of her," Nick replied, turning the ignition. "Whether she was stolen or purchased is anyone's guess, so tonight we're going to find out. Our first stop is Gretchen's Bluegrass Bar."

"Our demented murder suspect owned a goat?"

"According to what the day shift found, that's exactly what happened. We're going to visit the original owner and see where it leads us."

"I have a feeling it's going to be a long night," David mused. "Gretchen's Bluegrass Bar doesn't scream 'I'm harboring a murderer' to me."

"That's the last thing you want to think," Nick replied as he eased out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "Always let the evidence lead you, never anything else."

"That's exactly what I'm trying not to do," David admitted. "Your victims were all Russian, all white, all women and all elderly. It looks like a hate crime, possibly even some idiot neo-Nazi who's trying to prove some ignorant point. Evidence is greatest thing since sliced bread, but Grissom's 'let the evidence lead you' theories can only get you so far. Your gut feelings and common sense lead you to the evidence and the evidence explains the story. It's a binary system."

Nick cast a stunned look over towards his passenger. David refused to meet his gaze, choosing to take in the city instead. Why did he speak like that around Nick? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

"How many crime books have you read, David?" Nick slowly asked.

"Books? You don't learn that sort of thing from books."

"Then where'd you get it? It sounds like you just dived into an expert's head."

"Just because I'm a lab rat doesn't mean I can't think like you. Besides, I happen to wage war with one of the best CSIs you'll ever meet."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "And who's that?"

David turned and shot his friend a smile, his first genuine one of the evening. "Sanders, obviously."

…

The bar was an ugly-as-sin brick building with nothing but sandy grounds and junk littering the property. Not even the dark night sky could veil the architectural eyesore that was barely standing erect. The roof was torn and patched with large squares of rusted tin while the screen door was warped and wouldn't shut properly, the screen punched with holes. There was no parking lot speak of, merely a large field; most of the vehicles taking up this particular space were those that looked like rolling trash heaps on wheels, barely making it down the road.

"Charming," David murmured. "Who decorated, Uncle Henry?"

"Hey, Uncle Henry rocked. He kept the farm going, didn't he? What more could you ask for?" Nick asked as he shut off the ignition and followed David's gaze towards the building. It was a picture of unapologetic disarray.

"I would have piled up my money and moved Aunty Em and Dorothy to the city. They were asking for a certain doom, you know? If after a few years you can't cut a profit, it's time to move on."

"You ruin fairy tales, man."

"You can't blame a scientist for being logical," David countered. "I'm just saying that his probability of making a large enough revenue before the government seized the farm isn't exactly awe inspiring. If Dorothy hadn't gotten sucked up into the cyclone, they'd be in deep financial troubles. Your Uncle Henry would probably be behind bars and charged with tax evasion."

"Dude, their financial situation didn't get any better when she got back from Oz," Nick argued. "How did the cyclone help? If anything, it destroyed their house."

"Then you obviously didn't read the seven books Mr. Baum wrote _after_ the Wizard of Oz. They all eventually moved to the Emerald City and lived without a monetary care in the world, the lucky pricks."

"David, how do you know so much about this?"

David paused. Once again, he had revealed way too much about himself. "The first person to own Nana is Gretchen Rossberry, fifty one years of age, white Caucasian woman," David recited (he had succesfully absorbed the casefile on the ride to their first witness's location) while trying to ignore Nick's query. "One charge of drunk and disorderly conduct in eighty nine."

At the Texan's expecting silence, David surrendered and let out a sigh, realizing that he'd never escape the question of how he knew so much about the children's stories. "Let's just say my niece has an unhealthy obsession with the Wizard of Oz books. Her philosophy is that forcing her uncle to read through each of them builds character." David leaned in closer, whispering in a conspiracy-like manner. "In payback, I made her read the August issue of Car and Driver. She had never been so bored in her life."

Nick grinned, leaning in as well, his voice laced with laughter. "That's a brilliant plan. I'll have to remember it for when my little niece makes me read Cinderella one more time. I keep trying to tell her that glass slippers are highly impractical, but you can't tell a seven year old girl that and expect for her to listen."

David was aware of how close they were, but was equally aware that he had to be losing his mind. Surely Nick wasn't being flirtatious by leaning so close to him, was he? Because the last time anyone had flirted with David was- well, never. His romantic entanglements were few and far in between, and he was definitely rusty when it came to the rules of flirting.

He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say in response, but he was saved the angst of trying to figure it out. A woman's loud voice broke their concentration.

"HEY!"

David and Nick jumped and immediately pulled away from each other, as if becoming conscious of their proximity before turning to peer through the windshield.

A stout, stern looking woman crashed through the bar's entranceway, intent on speaking to the two lab employees if she didn't kill them first. She stood on the rickety porch and waved her arms, yelling to them from her position thirty yards away. Both men quickly hopped from their truck seats and hurried towards her.

"You the two cops who are here for my complaint? It's about time, damn it! I coulda found her myself by the time it took you two to get out here."

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges," Nick quickly introduced while David sent the woman a blank look. The unsettling stain on her apron was the least of her unattractive qualities. "We're with the crime lab. We understand an animal was taken from this premises?"

"Damn right! My goat Nana was stolen in the middle of the night. Ain't anything sacred anymore?" she furiously queried.

"Ma'am, how did you acquire the animal?" Nick asked, indicating for David to start taking notes while Nick asked the questions and kept the witness settled.

"My brother owns a farm," she explained, shooting the two men a dirty glance. "He gave her to me for my birthday. I've had her for four years! And now she's holed up in your fancy little lab, eatin' chemicals and whatnot! I want her back, you hear me? I'll-''

"Ma'am, do you know who took the goat?"

"That bitch at Target! I've seen her around here before. One of those fluffy, animal loving teenyboppers. Yelled at me for kicking it once in a while when the thing needed a good lesson."

David tried not to be angry. Not that he cared about Nana or anything, but she wasn't the kind of animal who needed a lesson of any sort.

"Do you know this woman's name and what she looks like?" Nick calmly pressed.

"Alice Forrester! Blonde, white, ain't never had to work a day in her life! Let me tell you she's a dim-witted little who-''

"Thank you," Nick interrupted. "Do you know where we can find her?"

"That Target store about a mile north. She works nights. And you tell her when I get a holda' her, I'm ringin' her little neck!"

"We'll make sure to contact her and see where your animal is."

"You'd better! And then I want to press charges! Theft! Kidnap!"

"Yes ma'am, when we find-''

"And for parking violations! She parked in front of our loading door even when the sign gave strict instructions not to!"

"Ma'am, we'll-''

"And there's no _way_ she could have afforded all the jewelry she was wearin'! She's a thief!"

Nick met David's eyes and tilted his head towards the truck, signifying that it was time to make a break for it. They turned simultaneously and began walking away.

"And I think her tags are expired! She probably owes hundreds in unpaid tickets!" Gretchen yelled after their retreating forms. "Hey, get back here! Are you even listening to me?"

"I didn't know it was National Be A Bitch Day," David muttered as the woman's angry ranting littered the background with noise. "I'm hurt Jacqui didn't inform me earlier."

"Ms. Rossberry might have a few problems," Nick admitted. "Beating up a goat? Not exactly the moral conscious the world needs right now. But you did pretty good with the casefile, though. Sure you don't want to follow in Greg's footsteps and become a CSI?"

"Please don't insult me like that. Besides, there are way too many stupid people I'd be forced to care about. Only soulless human-demon hybrids abuse animals and if you expect me to feel sorry that she was a "victim of theft", prepare to be severely disappointed."

"I think I can hear that fabled heart of yours," Nick replied, laughing even as Gretchen continued to yell at their receding backs. "I've never known you to care about animals."

"I care about life, Nick. I'm just like all your CSI do-gooder pals; I just happen to care about it in the lab."

They quickly opened their respective truck doors and jumped inside, relieved to get away from the woman's furious words. Did she really think they were listening, or did she simply feel like wasting oxygen?

"Are you supposed to walk away like this?" David asked, peering through the windshield. Ms. Rossberry was still bellowing obscenities, now adding a few rude finger gestures to the mix. "Isn't she someone with a valid complaint?"

"I'm sure she is," Nick replied. "And all complaints can be filed through the appropriate channels. You know, you kind of sound like Greg with all your legal jargon."

"I beg your pardon? If you just compared me to Sanders, I'm stealing your keys and leaving your sorry ass here. That's a line you just don't cross."

"And here I thought we were getting to be friends."

"Don't get misty eyed on me, Nick," David said, fastening his seatbelt. "Where to next? I've got a goat timed to pass evidence in four and a half hours."

"I'm sure you want to be there in person when it happens," Nick quipped. At David's unamused stare, Nick continued speaking. "According to the lovely Ms. Rossberry, our next stop is Target," he replied, wrinkling his nose before sighing. "It's such a chick store."

"Daphne drags me in there all the time."

"I thought she was anti-mass production, all natural, made in the USA kinda girl?"

"She doesn't go to shop," David corrected. "She likes the salty pretzels and cherry Icees. After that, she won't spend a dime."

…

The Target was bustling from the front doors all the way to the back shelves and every space in between. It had been a nightmare trying to find a place to park; there was the old guy who took twenty minutes deciding whether he wanted the space on the left or on the right, and then there was the woman didn't seem to understand parking lot etiquette.

"I suppose no one realizes that those yellow arrows on the pavement aren't just for decoration," David groused as the exited their vehicle and started walking through the busy parking lot.

"She definitely wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed," Nick agreed, watching as the driver sped off, the CSI having few legal rights to do anything about it. "I'm just glad she stopped before totaling my car."

"The life of your fellow lab co-worker isn't as important as a machine-built tin can on wheels?"

"You?" Nick asked, waving his hand dismissively. "There are hundred of applicants to our lab every year. You're expendable. And a Tahoe is _not_ a tin can on wheels."

"You say that now, but you'll miss me when I'm gone."

"Which part of you? The sarcasm? Bitter outlook on life? Aggravating personality?"

"All of the above, plus my insulting comments and hurtful observations. It's a package deal, Nick."

Nick laughed as they made their way to the automatic opening doors, immediately met with a large shopping crowd with a ration of men to women being about 1 to 99.

"How are we supposed to find her?" David asked, narrowly avoiding a young girl as her mother went chasing after her. And whose baby was screaming in the women's clothing section? And why did those damn pretzels have to smell so delicious?

"We can just get a manager to- wait a minute," Nick said, walking towards the line of busy checkout aisles. "There's a blonde right there."

"Nick, it's _Target_. Half the people here are blondes between two and forty five, mostly female."

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Nick asked, leaning towards the first checkout lady he met. The woman turned and although her name tag read Ericka Mobley, her expression turned anxious when she laid eyes on the man before her.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she hesitantly questioned, obviously uncomfortable at speaking.

"I was wondering if you know where Alice Forrestor might be?"

"Alice? She works lane fourteen." Ericka paused before biting her lip. "Is she- is she in trouble?"

Nick gave the woman a reassuring smile. "None whatsoever. Thanks for your help."

Ericka seemed to visibly relax and she nodded her farewell as they made their way past the throngs of shoppers towards their witness. "I bet you got away with a lot of stolen cookies when you were a kid," David muttered, the image of Ericka melting into a puddle still fresh in his mind. Nick laughed as they approached a blonde working checkout lane fourteen, understanding what he meant.

"It's a blessing and a curse," he whispered, before reaching out and touching Alice's shoulder. "Are you Alice Forrestor?" Nick asked as the small woman jumped and spun around.

"Who's asking?" she countered. She had green eyes, blonde hair, and a small frame. She was wearing numerous buttons, mostly liberal in their expressions. There was a 'Hilary – 2008', a 'Stop Global Warming', an Amnesty International logo, and the Human Rights Campaign proudly displayed for all to see.

"I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges. We work for the crime lab," Nick began. David had a feeling this was a speech that Nick recited many, many times in the course of one evening, changing only his partner's name when the situation warranted it.

"Really? Are you government agents?" she asked, obnoxiously chomping on her gum while shooting the two men a suspicious glare. "I know your game, boys. Area Fifty-One? All the conspiracies and cover-ups? If you think you're getting a word out of me, you're crazy."

David held his tongue. If she thought _they_ were crazed, she should take a good look in the mirror before making a trip down to the psychiatrist.

"Ma'am, we're here about Nana, the goat. As we understand it, Gretchen Rossberry claims that you took i-''

"Gretchen, that- that hater of all living things? I'll tell you what, I saw her give that poor creature a swift kick in the head! I filed a complaint against her, but did you guys come? No-o! So I staked her out."

"You frequented her bar just to see if she abused the goat?"

"Wouldn't you?" Alice angrily asked. "No one deserves to be treated like that! So when I saw her do it again, I waited until the customers were bogging her down, snuck out into the back, and untied Nana."

"Where'd you take her then?"

"Oh my God! It's illegal to try and save the life of an innocent animal? Just arrest me, you government zombies! Do it!" she cried, thrusting out her wrists. "I'll gladly go to any prison if I can protect the rights of animals everywhere!"

"Ma'am," Nick slowly began, wincing at her very-public display. "We don't want to arrest you. All we want to know is who you gave her to afterwards."

Alice sniffled and sighed, running her hand through her hair, her wrist covered in plastic bracelets. "I couldn't take her to an animal shelter. She was stolen and besides, that's the first place Gretchen would probably go, so I gave her to Stuart."

"Does Stuart have a last name?" David asked. She nodded.

"Stuart Langley. He's a plumber." She sniffled again, successfully gaining the attention of what looked to be faithful friends. If looks could kill, the checkout lady on aisle thirteen would have turned Nick and David into ashes with her glare alone. "He runs Langley's Plumbing Services off of Flamingo Parkway, just past the bridge."

"Thank you, Ms. Forrestor."

"Are you going to arrest me?"

Nick and David exchanged looks. David certainly had no authority to do so and it didn't look as if Nick was eager to call Brass and tell him to drop his numerous murder investigations so he could come arrest a woman who was just trying to save an animal's life.

"It's very doubtful, ma'am," Nick replied. "You have a good evening."

"Oh, okay. But don't think I don't know about the aliens!"

"It'll be our little secret," Nick said, shooting her an uncomfortable grin.

"I can wager a guess as to how she's so well acquainted with Area Fifty-One," David mused as they emerged from the bustling Target into the midnight-painted Las Vegas. "Whatever planet she's from is pissed at all the experiments they did on her."

"I don't know, Dave. Do you trust our government?"

"Hell no, but aliens just aren't on the top of my priority list."

"But you believe in conspiracies and stuff?"

"Of course I do. A government was created for the single purpose of plotting ways to overtax their citizens and brainwash the majority of the population."

"You've been spending way too much time with Archie, man."

"Hey, the government is filled with snakes. When I was trans-'' He caught his words, inwardly giving himself a bitchslap upon realizing that he had nearly blurted out one of the most humiliating experiences of his life.

"When you were transferred?" Nick asked, shooting his friend a concerned look. "Everyone knows about it, but no one knows why-''

"The point is that our government has some serious flaws that no one wants to address. Where to next?" David interrupted, not meeting Nick's eyes. It was evident that he didn't want to talk about it. "Please don't tell me we're visiting a plumber."

"And here I was so sure that you'd be jumping at the chance to interact with another pipe dweeb," Nick good-naturedly replied, choosing to drop the obviously sensitive issue.

"Just because I'm handy with sinks doesn't make a dweeb," David defended. "And any further help you might have gotten from me? Gone. Next time, you can dig out your own contact with that handy little pen of yours. After all, you were _so_ successful the first time."

"Point taken. I'll never doubt your plumbing abilities again."

"For some reason, I'm just not taking you seriously."

Nick laughed as he pulled out his keys, pressing the keyless entry button. "I guess we're heading over to Langley's Plumbing Services, then."

"A murderous plumber? I'm just not sure how to react to that."

"We need another fairy tale to illustrate it with. I'm sure your niece could help us out."

"I'd go with Alice in Wonderland myself. God knows they needed one when she started crying and swimming down the hall. Then she met the mouse, of course, and- you know what? Never mind."

Step 7: Keep your mouth shut.

Step 8: Never let anyone else know you can do a bit of plumbing. The backlash you'll receive just isn't worth it.

Step 9: Sugar, caffeine, protein; stock up on all of it. It's going to be a long night ahead.

…

David Hodges was seriously beginning to question the structural designers in charge of the buildings they had been frequenting throughout the evening. Were all the good architects working on the casinos? Frankly, Langley's Plumbing Services wasn't the building most would hope for. As a matter of fact, it was a trailer that looked as if it were being held together by duct tape and not much else. David squinted as the truck's headlights swept over the small dwelling. Was that brink keeping the tarps on the roof from flying off?

Nick knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer. Admittedly, it was late and they had been lucky that their first few interviewees had been up and ready to talk. But Stuart seemed to be slightly normal, choosing to sleep during the darker hours. Nick took his fist and knocked again.

"Maybe he isn't home," Nick mused, pressing the doorbell for emphasis.

"Hey, here's a crazy thought," David replied, "Maybe he's asleep."

"Asleep?"

"Some people sleep during the night. I know it's weird," the technician replied.

Nick looked as if he were about to reply when the squeaky door was torn open and an aging, heavyset man stood in the doorway, looking rightfully pissed off. His hair, for what little he had left, was sticking up in odd angles while the distressed jeans and blue t-shirt he was wearing was wrinkled and torn. He was unshaved and looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, forcing himself to answer his door and barely succeeding.

"Are you Mr. Langley?" Nick hesitantly asked. Mr. Langley shot the two men a suspicious look.

"Yes I am. What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm Nick Stokes and this is David Hodges and we're from the-''

"Is this about my taxes?"

"Taxes?" Nick asked, clearly taken aback. "No sir, this is about-''

"'Cause I run a business here, fellas. All those tax cuts were perfectly legal."

"I'm sure they were sir, but we're here about the go-''

"And unless you got yourself a warrant, I ain't lettin' you in this house, you hear? My receipts are private property. As a matter of fact-''

"Screw the taxes," David snapped, convinced that if Mr. Langley was given the chance to ramble on, he would do so without a second thought. "We're here about Nana, the goat. Are you going to make us interview you out on your porch or are you going to let us in? Because we've got all night and I'm sure your porch swing is perfectly comfortable."

David certainly hoped his last comment wouldn't be put to the test; the porch swing, such as it was, looked like it could support the weight of a feather, possibly even two. But three feathers? Not a chance.

"Nana?" Stuart asked, opening the door further, obviously stirred by the name. "That sweet little animal? Why, what happened to her?"

"We need to know who you gave her to. Did you sell her or take her to a shelter?" Nick asked, relieved that the tax situation had been forgotten and that they were back on track. He supposed that David's 'screw the taxes' approach was painfully blunt but productive; he'd have to remember it in the future.

"I gave her to a friend of mine," Stuart replied, giving his visitors a wary look. "Lester Monroe."

"Oh? And where can we find Lester?"

"He runs a business just a few blocks west from here. He should be up around this hour."

"As far as you know, sir, does he still have Nana?"

Stuart looked thoughtful, scratching his exposed hairy belly. David blanched and chose to stare at the page he was writing on and absolutely nowhere else. Didn't people have any decency these days?

"Don't think so. I think he gave her to someone, can't remember who. You'll have to ask him."

"We'll do that."

"And ya'll treat him good! He's a good guy. We go huntin' together. Here, I got his address," Stuart offered, bending to retrieve something from behind his door. His movement revealed two things: a highly cluttered interior and, as he bent, the realization that plumbers still hadn't recognized the practicality of long, _long_ t-shirts. David blanched again, seeing more of Stuart Langley than he'd ever wanted.

"And what does he hunt?" Nick asked, sighing at the disheveled, disgusting sight before him. Would this happy merry-go-round never end?

"Ghosts," Stuart replied, before he thrust the scribbled address in Nick direction.

Step 10: Abandon Las Vegas and find a normal life in another state. Another country. Another planet.

…

"You know, I think there's a moral to this story," David said as he began to jot down some extra notes from their interview, Nick having revved up the engine and floored it out of there within record time. "Stupidity is a contagious disease that's easily spread. After hanging around Sanders for so long, I'm surprised you haven't caught it."

"What can I say? You're my cure. Five minutes with you and I'm stupidity free for the next twenty-four hours."

"If that was your idea of a compliment, I'm-''

"Going to kneel over and die?" Nick finished. "I know compliments are pretty much a foreign concept to you."

"That wasn't exactly what I was going to say," David dryly replied. "Although I bet you're just waiting for the whole 'kneel over and die' bit."

"Robbins's number is already in my speed dial," Nick answered, grinning.

David rolled his eyes. "I'm going to choose to ignore that," he replied. "Just tell me where we're going next, fearless navigator."

"According to Mr. Langley, we're dropping by Lester's Supernatural Resources, Inc."

"I can't believe people really believe in all that stuff. Who's going to hire someone to hunt the nonexistent?"

"It worked for the Ghostbusters."

"Maybe, but there was an evil plot to destroy the world and women with bad hair involved. There was a _reason_ to try and hunt down anything supernatural."

"If women with bad hair was the world's only problem, we'd be set for long, happy lives," Nick replied with a somewhat wistful sigh.

"Do you think this guy could be the last one who owned Nana?"

"If you're asking whether or not we're driving up to a killer's door step, then I can't answer that question. Mr. Langley _thinks_ that Lester gave her to someone else, but we could very well be dealing with a psychopath who hunts ghosts."

"You're not exactly inspiring me here."

What seemed to be only moments later, they were pulling up a driveway, Nick looking somewhat unsettled at being there. Lester Monroe seemed to be making a somewhat decent living, as his building wasn't a trailer held together by duct tape. Instead, it was small, homey house with a manicured lawn and immaculate grounds.

"Are you sure you want to come in?" Nick softly asked, gazing at the dwelling before them as he shut off the ignition. "This guy could be weird."

"And miss my duties as secretary? I'm insulted you'd even ask," David replied, opening his door, pointedly taking his notes with him. When Nick said 'this guy could be weird', he meant 'this guy might be a killer'. The technician knew this, but choose to ignore the possibility and take a wild leap of faith. After all, he wasn't letting Nick inside just so a murderer could shoot him. "But I can't start writing until you start interviewing."

"David, this could be our guy."

"It could be," David agreed, shooting Nick a bored look, hoping Nick would buy his nonchalant attitude. "But I'm not worried."

"David, I can't-''

"Look, I'm not letting you go in there by yourself. It's either me or we call up Brass and get him to send the entire LVPD down here. I'll even give you the option of choosing."

Nick was silent for a moment before sighing. "We could be dealing with a psychopath," he warned.

"I think you're underestimating me. Besides, our paranormal investigator might have passed Nana onto someone else. This guy could be completely harmless."

"And you're willing to take that chance?"

"It looks like you are."

"And what, you're going to recklessly follow me into a potentially dangerous situation?"

"Tonight, I'm following you anywhere," David answered, his reply simple. "I wasn't dragged out here to take notes. I was dragged out here because Grissom doesn't want you alone at a scene ever again. And I know he never tells you this, but you can read through the bullshit just as well as I can. Where you go, I go too. It's as simple as that."

"Big words for someone who doesn't know me that well."

"I know you perfectly. I know that you're a decent shot with that gun of yours, I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and I know that whether you like me or not, you aren't going to let some maniac blow my brains out."

Nick followed David's action of emerging from his driver's side of the vehicle, shooting his friend a frown.

"I can't guarantee that I can protect you," Nick argued as they strode towards the front door of Lester's Supernatural Resources, Inc.

"I have a life insurance policy and Daphne knows I want to be cremated."

"David, please-''

David reached and pressed the doorbell, both men able to hear the chime from their spot on the steps. Nick fell silent, looking troubled and trying to appear as unruffled as possible. Perhaps if Warrick or another properly trained CSI were with him, he wouldn't feel so ill at ease. They interviewed murderers all the time without even realizing that they were murderers until days and days later; still, having David there was… well, kind of calming, actually, but not reassuring. The technicians didn't deal with guns unless it was Bobby. If Bobby were here, preferably armed, he'd feel a lot better. Or if David at least had a bullet vest-

The door before them cracked open a whole four inches, just enough to let one eye peer out to see the two visitors.

"Can I help you?" a voice asked, muffled by the door.

"Sir, we're with the Las Vegas crime lab and we're here about Nana."

The door opened wider and revealed a short, young, dark haired man with glasses and perfectly pressed clothing. "Nana?" the man echoed. "What happened to her?"

"She's perfectly fine. We're just wondering if you know who owned her last," Nick replied, hiding his suspicions behind a professional demeanor.

"Well, if that's the case," Lester said, opening his door wider. "Come on in."

"Sir, we'd prefer not."

"Oh, come on. It's kinda chilly out there, isn't it?"

"Sir-''

"Is he always like this?" Lester asked, turning to David. David smiled.

"Not always, but we're in a little bit of a hurry. It's just a few questions and we'll be off."

"Fine," Lester sighed. "Just wait a moment, would you? I'll be right back." The young man sprinted off towards another room in the house, talking over his shoulder, words that neither David nor Nick really understood. They were sure it was something about "ghosts" and "Las Vegas" and "high residual area", but it was more of the man's supernatural ramble than anything else.

Lester quickly returned, grinning and holding up an expensive looking digital camera.

"Can't you see the specters?" he queried, giving the two men an excited look.

"Specters?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sir, the only thing you should be seeing is a psychiatrist. Now about Nana-''

Lester motioned for them to be silent. "I go all around Las Vegas searching for ghosts, but you two are just buzzing with spiritual energy! I see them all around you. Now if you'll just hold still for one moment…" Lester trailed off, adjusting his camera, while Nick looked rather uncomfortable. "No need to worry, Mr. Stokes. Photos are completely painless. Plus this camera can capture the residual force of the apparitions."

"You've got Brass in your speed dial too, right?" David whispered. "Because Robbins can only do so much until his area of expertise becomes inadequate."

"What, you don't think the Doc wouldn't come and shoot this guy for us?" Nick asked, trying to keep it light and hide his uneasiness.

"Unless your trusty coroner is willing to embalm this guy to death, then no, I think his abilities to defend our lives are limited."

There was a small whirring sound before a click was heard, although there was no flash. Lester, apparently pleased with himself, quickly headed over to his desktop computer in the corner of his living room and moved the mouse, taking it off standby. He turned back to them.

"You guys really can come in," he offered. "I don't bite."

Nick and David exchanged looks before Nick finally sighed and stepped into Lester's home. David followed, noting how Nick seemed to be absorbing the place through his eyes, making sure that no one else was in the house or that Lester's hand wasn't sinking into a drawer, wrapping his fingers around a gun.

However, Lester didn't seem to have any intention to kill them. "It's an altered digital camera," he explained, obviously excited he was getting them to listen to his words. "All I have to do is upload the pictures."

"While you're doing that, can you answer some questions?" Nick asked, looking as if he was ready to leave. "About Nana. Who gave her to you?"

"My old friend, Stuart Langley. Plumber, you know. Good guy. I offered to take care of her until someone bought her."

"Okay, _who_ bought her? Do you have a check or some sort of receipt?"

Lester shrugged. "Nah. It got to the point where I couldn't pay for all her upkeep, so I called my buddy Ty Richardson. He owns some property and I asked if he could put her up for sale. He's good with business and finance and all. Me? I'm just your average Joe."

"And that keeps on proving itself every passing minute," David replied. "Can you tell us how to get in contact with Mr. Richardson?"

"Yeah, I've his address right here," Lester said, picking up a small address book. "Just a sec." Lester clicked on several icons before bringing up the picture he had taken of Nick and David and then quickly engaging the 'Print' command. His printer beeped and blinked for a few moments before it's cartridges began moving back and forth, indicating it was carrying out its task.

"All right boys, here's Ty's address. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help," Lester said, copying the referral onto a spare napkin. "The man's kind of quiet, but took Nana without a second thought."

"Wonder why that is," Nick mused.

"Oh, I kept offering to just drop her off at his place, but he wouldn't hear of it. He's upstanding that way. Here's something even more exciting," he continued, grabbing the completed photo from his printer tray. "This picture is evidence of supernatural activity. This little white dot by your arm, Mr. Stokes? That's called an orb, an indication of supernatural activity-"

"Mr. Monroe," David said, clearly exasperated. "We're just as excited about the white dots as you are, but do you know who Mr. Richardson sold the animal too?"

"Sold?" Lester echoed, blinking. "He's still got it. No one seems to want a goat in the middle of the desert, I guess."

Nick and David quickly swapped looks, this news forming a new energy. If he still had it, then that could only mean…

"Thanks for all your time, sir, but we've really gotta go. You've been a great help," Nick said, turning and striding towards the front door.

"I have? Awesome. Oh, and don't forget your picture," Lester said. David quickly grabbed the photo as the two men hurried out, leaving a dazed ghost hunter in their wake.

Nick quickly pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers as they hurried towards the Tahoe, David stuffing the photo haphazardly into the casefile.

"Gris, it's Nick," Nick hastily greeted into the cell. "We just came back from Lester Monroe's house and- Lester, he's one of the last guys who owned Nana." Pause. "I'll explain when I get to the lab. Anyway, he gave it to a guy named Ty Richardson and guess what? He thinks Ty still has her, so he might be our restaurant guy. We're heading over there. You wanna call Brass?" Beat. "Have I eaten?" The question was incredulous. "No, not yet, but I-'' David listened, interested in what was being said. "Am I feeling okay? Gris, man, I'm fine. The point is we may have our guy. You want us over there or not?" Break. "I know there's only an hour left until the end of shift, but- What, you want the day shift to cover this? Why? If it's because David's with me, I can tell you that he's perfectly capable of-'' Pause. Nick shook his head at whatever Grissom was saying. "David? You know, tall, dark and rude?" Pause. "It's _Hodges_, Gris. You sent him out with me, remember?"

David rolled his eyes. It was nice to know everyone was missing him at the lab.

"Okay, if you're sure, but… yeah, okay. See you later, man. Huh? Yeah, he's kinda like a kid when he's not fed on a regular basis," Nick said, sending David a teasing grin.

"I am not!" David protested before realizing how childish he actually sounded.

Nick laughed. "Okay, see you later. Uh-huh, I know. Bye." The Texan snapped the phone shut before looking everywhere except Dave. "He says great job with the case."

"There's no need to lie," David innocently replied. "Just tell me everyone misses my sparkling personality and I'll feel so much better. I can completely ignore the fact that my boss didn't remember who I was."

"He remembered your last name," Nick defended. "Plus, Sara was asking why her day was going so well until Greg told her it was because she didn't have to deliver evidence to you."

"And the compliments just keep rolling in," David muttered, climbing into the passenger's seat.

"Are you as hungry as I am?" Nick asked, glancing towards the rising sun before taking a look over to his passenger who was trying to both simultaneously organize his notes on their evening so far and not curse the cheap pens that Greg always carried around. Greg _knew_ David stole his pens, so couldn't the guy splurge on some ballpoints that actually had fresh ink inside of them?

"People say that my irritability increases when I get hungry," David replied, scribbling on the corner of the manila folder, trying to get the ink to start flowing.

"Then you must be famished," the other man replied, grinning audaciously at the glare David shot him.

"If you think I'm above shooting you and roasting your dead carcass over an open flame in order to eat, then you're sadly mistaken."

Nick laughed. "Right, point taken. What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything edible."

"Can you be more vague, please? You were too specific the first time."

David looked up to see where they were exactly. A block from the lab, there was a great Chinese take-out place. A mile and a half from his super market was an excellent Thai hole-in-the-wall, connected to a car wash. But this route was the one he took every evening to get back home. If he wasn't mistaken, there was an amazingly junky diner just a few blocks from the next intersection. "Turn here," he directed, pointing towards the next road sign. "There's a diner down the street. They only spit on the food if you have a Bush sticker on your car."

"What kind of diner?" Nick asked, even as he turned at the sign.

"The kind where frequent patrons won't live past forty five due to the high amount of fat they fry their food in. Other than that, it's not half bad."

"It's a grease spoon," Nick supplied.

"Nick, this place is a grease _ladle._ I can feel my arteries clog with every bite."

"So why do you eat there?"

David shrugged. "It has a decent atmosphere, decent prices, and coffee that even Sanders wouldn't say no to. If there wasn't any of his fancy stuff, that is."

Nick grinned. "Speaking of which, he wants to ask how you always know where he hides his Blue Hawaiian. I think he's about ready to stash it in the men's room."

"Tell him I check under the sinks regularly, plus the roof. Oh, and the back of the refrigerator? So predictable. It's like he's not even trying anymore."

At that, the Texan laughed as he turned into what he supposed was their intended eating location. It was a small building, more of a shack, really. The ground was dusty and there wasn't a parking lot; it was more of a 'park anywhere, just don't block the front door' place. The "Margo's Drink 'n Dine" sign on the top of the roof was faded, the paint beginning to crack and peel. The few other trucks already parked were grimy and washed out; there were even some dogs tied up to a post, eating leftover nachos.

"You're kidding, right?" Nick asked, uncertainly observing the place through the windshield. "What do they serve, road kill?"

"I asked Margo that once. She ended up trying to poison me with Tabasco sauce."

"That's it, there's no way I'm eating here. I'd rather-''

"Come on, live a little," David said, abandoning his paperwork and non-writing pen in favor of opening his door and hopping out. "Tabasco sauce never killed anyone. Besides, all she did was pour it in my coffee."

With a sigh, Nick opened his door as well, making sure to lock up before approaching the diner, Nick looking somewhat wary as the dogs began growling at him while completely ignoring David, as if they were used to his presence. A tiny bell chinked as David pushed the glass door open, revealing a rather shoddy but well kept interior. The booths were beginning to bust at the seams, revealing the foam stuffing beneath the faux leather. The tiles was scratched, stained, and cracked in some places while a bucket sat on the floor, catching water drops from a leaking ceiling. The A.C. was a window unit instead of central, so it was blowing with a ribbon attached to a vent, waving merrily in the air. The walls were adorned with all types of photographs and art while the front counter was covered in dozens of trinkets. The tables were barely holding together while the chairs were mis-matched.

"It's a bad sign when you can count five building violations just from standing at the front door," Nick whispered, glancing towards the A.C. and wincing when it let out a high pitched squeak before returning to its normal condition.

"I've found that dangerous building violations add to the entire experience," David replied before turning towards the kitchen. "Hey! What are we supposed to do, cook our own food? How about some service?"

"Hodges!" Nick exclaimed, spinning towards the technician in shock, so surprised by David's uncouth manners that he even reverted back to the old habit of calling to him by his last name. "That was so rude! What are…?"

His words trailed off when he was met with a smile that could only be described as teasing. A moment passed before a voice was heard from the kitchen.

"I'm coming already! Good Lord, where's the fire?"

"If your cooking abilities are anything to go by, I'd say on the stove, specifically on your badly broiled burgers."

A woman around forty-nine or so emerged from the kitchen, shooting an unamused look in David's direction. She was African American with gray hair pulled into a long braid. She was a good six feet tall, wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, a bright orange tank top, green flip-flops, and wielding a spatula like a weapon. The only jewelry she wore was what looked to be a pricey wedding ring; other than that, she was a plain dresser but looked to be a colorful personality.

"Hey sugar baby. Whatch' you been up to?" she asked, walking over and giving David a hug.

"First of all, Marg, it's David."

"You're my sugar baby and that's that. And who's this? Your new honey?" she asked, shooting a white toothed grin Nick's way.

Nick tried not to crash onto the ground in shock. How did this lady keep customers? And how could she ask such a personal question? And how could those onion rings she was frying smell so damn delicious?

"This is Nick Stokes. We work together," David replied, glancing towards Nick who was looking appropriately embarrassed by the new 'boyfriend' label that all of David's friends seemed to be sticking him with.

"Good to meet you, sweetie. My name's Margo," she said, sticking out an elegant, friendly hand. Nick tried to smile and shook it. "The only one Dave ever brings around is Daphne. You met her?"

"Yes ma'am. She's a lovely woman."

"Now honey, there ain't no need to be so formal. Calling me "ma'am" makes me feel so old."

"All right then, Margo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mm-hm," Margo murmured approvingly. "He's a keeper, sugar," she said, turning to David. "Ain't met a man with manners like that since Roger, God rest his soul."

The technician rolled his eyes. "He's not a keeper, he's a _co-worker_. I could have sworn I just said that."

"Sweetie, all you said is that you worked together. That don't mean you two couldn't be heatin' up the sheets at night. Now where's my staff?" she asked, more to herself than to the two horrified men in front of her. "I swear that boy is the worst waiter I've ever seen. Kyle, you better get your butt over here and help our customers!" Margo bellowed to a young man hidden in the corner, hunched over a thick textbook. The man jumped at the voice before quickly sliding out of the booth and scuttling towards them, grinning when he laid eyes on the technician.

"Yo, Dave! What's up? Haven't seen you for a while."

"Kyle, it's been a week."

"Really? Man, college classes totally screw up my perception of time."

"As well as fashion. What is this, bohemian reject?" David asked, referring to the mis-matched clothing and sneakers the young waiter was currently donning.

"It's the latest thing," Kyle defended. "And anyway, what do you know? You probably sleep in Oxford button ups." It looked as if the shorter man was about to launch into an entire clothing debate until his eyes landed on Nick. David could practically _see_ the wheels turning in Kyle's head, the subject matter quickly veering towards the opposite spectrum. "Dude, who's this? Daph never mentioned you were finally getting lucky."

David glared before grabbing a nearby menu and thwacking it against Kyle's head. Sure, his sexuality had been hinted at once or twice and then he'd been completely outed by his neighbors yesterday, but "get lucky"? How crude. It was almost as bad as Margo's "heating up the sheets" description.

"First off, you'd have my deepest thanks if you never used that phrase again. Second, this is my co-worker."

"Who you're getting lucky with, right?"

Screw the menu- it was time for physical violence. David shot him a death look once more before smacking him upside the head, this time with his palm.

"_No._ Now do your job and ask us whether we want a booth or a table."

"Ouch," Kyle complained, rubbing his head. "Geez, there's no need to get aggressive."

"Do you want me to go find another restaurant in which to sulk, eat too many fries and then tip the waiter more than he deserves?" David asked, crossing his arms. "Because there's a diner opening up across the street from the lab. I can just as well waste money there as I can here."

"Hell no!" Kyle replied as he took two menus and led them towards a corner booth with ease. "Your Sulk-and-Eat fund keeps this place afloat. You want the usual?"

"Two usuals and two cups of coffee," David replied, practically flopping onto the seat. "And no Tabasco sauce this time."

"Hard day?" Kyle asked as he scribbled down the order. "You'll have to tell me about it. Nothing exciting has happened around here since… well, never."

"Just get us coffee. I'll give you the details soon," David promised, thankful as the young man scampered off to make their food. David let out a relieved sigh at the sight before turning back to his companion.

"That was the weirdest day of my life," he finally admitted. "Don't let this go to your head or anything, but I think I have a whole new respect for you."

Nick smiled. "Yeah, it gets a spot in my list of Top Ten Freaky Days at Work."

"Should I ask where it ranks?"

"I'd say number five."

"I don't want to know about the first four, do I?"

"Unless you want to know the specific and alternate uses for Jello, then no." There was a pause and Nick opened his mouth, as if wanting to speak but unable to form the words. "Hey, David," the Texan slowly began, shooting the technician a nervous smile, "I was thinking."

"Congratulations. You get a gold star."

"You can never make things easy, can you?"

"It's always been my belief that we all need someone to hate in our daily lives. I just happen to be the rare man who's brave enough to accept the duty as the crime lab's people-hating bastard," David calmly replied. "When someone hears they have to take some evidence to me, do they nod and smile? Do they even agree? No, they grimace and try to pass it off on someone else. _That's_ when I know I've had yet another successful day."

Nick blinked through his glasses. "I see you've put an unsettling amount of thought into this."

"You like paragliding and I like making people miserable. It's all about your inner passion."

The Texan shot him a half smile and David felt his defenses begin to crumble under the attack of Nick's charm. Red alert! Enemy has infiltrated the first line of defense! Go back! Abort! Panic!

"That's not really how you want it to be, is it?" Nick quietly asked.

David paused a moment before sighing. Oh, what the hell? This day couldn't get anymore surreal anyway. "No," he admitted, looking anywhere but the man in front of him. "This isn't how I wanted my life to be. I got married to someone I didn't really love and who didn't love me either. I had a cutthroat divorce. I was transferred from L.A. due to some attitude problems that I'm _sure_ you couldn't imagine me having and now I'm going through goat crap for a living and listening to how Deanna Troi is the most useless characters in Star Trek: The Next Generation."

Nick was quiet. Was this really David Hodges? The fact of the matter was that this was, in fact, the man he had left the crime lab with; his layers had merely shattered, revealing the man underneath.

"So you hate your life?"

David gave him a half smile and shook his head. "Actually, no. I have great friends and a good job, the exception being the goat."

"You know you like Nana. There's no use hiding it."

David rolled his eyes but couldn't stop his smile. "My adoration for farm animals has always been a well kept secret until now," he replied. "And I know when someone's trying to change the subject, so don't pull he wool over my eyes. If _my_ life's plans were altered but I still ended up relatively happy, then you might not be far behind. Greg tells me your parents weren't hot on the idea of you moving to Sin City."

Nick shrugged. "I wanted my roots to be somewhere else."

"No offense, but why Las Vegas? I think Texas might be a better place to live with your wife, two point three kids, and faithful dog."

"I needed something different," Nick replied. "My sisters all wanted that life. You know, the spouse and kids and dog, but I wanted something else."

"So no marriage plans, right?"

Nick grinned. "I definitely want to get married when I meet the right person, but there was too much… emphasis, I guess. Where I grew up, marriage was the reason you were born. I just had to get away from all that." He smiled again. "I thought this city might shake me out of my stupor. You know, wake me up again."

"And are you awake now?"

"Can't get a damn bit of sleep," Nick replied, laughing.

"So if you're happy here, then what were you thinking about?"

"What?"

"Earlier. You said you were thinking and I congratulated you for that amazing feat."

"That? Oh, it was nothing," Nick replied, fiddling with some sugar packets. "Forget it."

"Come on, Nick. We've faced red necks, bimbos, and the clinically insane OCD tonight. Whatever it is, spill. Unless it's really juicy gossip, then I'll tell Jacqui who'll promptly rent out a billboard and inform the world."

Nick took a deep breath before shooting David a nervous glance.

"I don't want this to change your opinion of me."

"My opinion doesn't hold that much water anyway."

"It matters to me, David. I don't want you to think I'm a freak."

"Unless you killed someone, I won't think of you any differently," David reassured.

"Fine, but you asked for it."

"Yes, I did. I'm totally prepared to face the consequences of whatever bomb you're about to drop."

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner tomorrow."

The question was simply put, Nick choosing not to draw the process out any longer than it had to be.

"Isn't that what we're sort of doing right now, only it's six o'clock in the morning?" David asked, hoping to quell the other man's uncomfortable state.

"I meant without the case. Without any work related thing at all."

"Oh? Do you graveyard shift guys always go out on Saturday nights?" David asked, not wanting to run the risk of assuming that Nick was asking him out on a d-a-t-e.

Nick cleared his throat and shook his head, now shredding the napkin in his hand into thin, delicate strips.

"Not the entire group. I meant us. Alone. Like, y'know… like a date." Even more hushed: "If you want to."

At the silence that followed his suggestion, Nick took a glance up and felt his face flush. David was staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. "Only if you want to, but if you don't then that's fine. I could just- I could just pay for this and drive you ho-''

David was almost sure he couldn't hear Daphne and Jacqui's voices yelling simultaneously: "_Ðavid, you dumbass! What the hell are you doing not answering! Just say yes already!"_

"Yes," he blurted, the word tumbling awkwardly from his mouth while ceasing Nick's nervous speech. For a moment, he felt ridiculous that it took a shove from the imaginary and disembodied voices of the two most dangerous women the world had ever known.

The relieved smile Nick sent made him forget all about the embarrassment; instead, he felt himself relax.

"You will?" Nick asked, staring as if perhaps he had expected David to start crying like a little girl before running through the restaurant, screaming that another man had asked him out. It didn't say much for the other man's confidence in him, but that was something he could teach Nick about in the days to come.

He and Nick exchanged embarrassed smiles as Kyle brought out the coffee.

Step 11: Don't visibly panic at the thought of going to dinner with Nick Stokes.

Step 12: Don't smile to widely at the thought, either. You still have a shred of self-respect. For the love of God, keep it.

Step 13: Kill Margo for putting Tabasco sauce in your coffee. _Again._ Good lord, how many times are you going to have to apologize about the road kill comment?

_So what's it all about?  
I can't work you out...  
There's a chemistry between us  
__Getting hard to disguise -  
Still you're holding back,  
Some kind of panic attack -  
Treading water when you  
Really should be turning the tide..._

_Dive In_, Darius

TBC.

Next chapter: our favorite crazy techs conspire once more and this plot _finally_ begins to unfold! Any ideas for a date? I'm all ears. -grins-


	7. Wherein David Panics

A/T: Okie-dokie folks… I know updates have been slow (i.e. at a gosh darn _crawl_) but I promise to do better. What does everyone think of season 6 so far? Huzzah for Hodges scenes! -does the one-person Wave- So here's chapter 7 of _Snapshots_, because you guys deserve it. :D

Miasnape pointed out (in her fabulous review!) that it's a bad idea to unwittingly alienate readers with too many OCs at one time, so I hope you still like the neighbors. I had to give David an outside source of conversation, you know? The other technicians will always be my first choice, but they can't be there all the time… and thus OCs have to make their appearance.

Dedication: To all my LJ pals. Rock on/write on!

Disclaimer: Not yours, not mine. Oh, to be a bigwig at CBS!

Snapshots  
Act 7: Wherein David Panics and Mondays Are Dreaded

David Hodges rarely panicked. As a matter of fact, he _never _panicked. The only time he'd ever been truly worried was when he was a baby, screaming as he shot out of his mother's womb, realizing he would be forced to live on this planet called Earth and mingle amongst the stupid people that inhabited it. (He was equally as worried when he saw Greg get caught in the explosion, but _that_ little tidbit was going with him to his grave.) And he knew he shouldn't have let the whole 'I'm going on a date with Nick Stokes tonight' get to him, because it was a minor detail at best and it was certainly nothing to worry over.

Twenty minutes before Nick was scheduled to arrive found David throwing open his closet doors, an important (and overlooked) insight rearing its ugly head. How had he missed this? How could he have overlooked it? What rock had he been living under for the last twelve hours? He hadn't dated since –well, it'd been a while- but even the most uncouth, oafish moron knew the _basics_ of having dinner with a guy who made you forget the periodic table of elements. Basic Rule #1: Brush your teeth. Basic Rule #2: Use the rudimentary people skills you were born with while in the presence of your heartthrob.

Basic Rule #3: Wear something decent.

In his defense, he had completely remembered and obeyed the first two Basic Rules. It was Basic Rule #3 that had both surprised him and, upon realizing that he couldn't really obey it, terrified him. He knew he was being ridiculous; after all, how could a man with a closet full of clothes not have anything to wear? Technically, he _did_ have things to wear, but who wore their work clothes on a date? Everything that was hanging up was something Nick had seen him in a hundred times before. White button up? Blue button up? Black button up? Good Lord, didn't he own anything else? A green sweater? No, it was too hot outside. His high school marching band t-shirt? Wait, why did he still _own_ that?

He swore to himself that was _wasn't _panicking when he began banging on Daphne's door five minutes later, having successfully destroyed his closet in an attempt to find something halfway respectable. This wasn't their typical time to talk; as a matter of fact, Saturday nights usually found Daphne either turning in early, balled up in bed and clutching the Cabbage Patch Kid doll she had owned since she was five (and refused to get of) or watching some rented movies she'd inevitably forget to return. She and David would sometimes watch them together even though she loved chick flicks and he despised them with every fiber of his being. (She had _You've Got Mail _and _Never Been Kissed_ memorized. It was rather frightening, actually.) He generally spent most of the time pointing out the movie's inaccuracies, flaws, and improbable plot twists that could never be realistically possible; Daphne would, in turn, throw popcorn at him in an (unsuccessful) effort to shut him up.

He knocked again, much harder.

A moment passed before the door slowly opened, Daphne standing there and blinking, looking at David as if he had lost his mind. Her hair was sticking up, her pajamas were wrinkled, and she had sleep lines on her face. It was pretty obvious that she _had_ been sleeping, but drastic times called for drastic measures and if rousing her from her slumber was the course to take, then so be it. Besides, she had provoked him with too many tuba concertos for too many years. It was time for some well-deserved payback.

"David?" she asked, her voice rough with drowsiness. "What're you doing here?"

"I have to talk to you."

"But I'm sleep-''

"Not anymore," David replied, brushing past her and heading towards the kitchen, where her coffee maker stood proudly, as if waiting for him to come and help himself.

"Is something wrong?" she queried, closing the door behind him before shuffling over to where he stood, becoming a little more awake every passing moment.

"I need help. Actually, I need an escape route. You have to call him and tell him I ate a bad –I don't know- shrimp salad or something. Tell him I'm sick. I'm puking everywhere."

"But you're perfectly healthy," she stated, crossing her arms and cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. He rolled his eyes; armed with her grasp of the glaringly obvious, he'd bet money that she could be a CSI in no time.

"You're missing the point," he muttered, placing a paper filter into the machine before filling it with some ridiculously girly French Vanilla flavored coffee. He would usually grouse about it (Couldn't she buy the regular stuff like everyone else? Greg was clearly being a bad influence on her.) but this particular evening wasn't the opportune time.

"David, what's going on?" A hint of worry colored her voice and her look of skepticism was morphing into one of concern. "Are you in trouble?"

David took a long breath. Daphne was the last person he wanted to have knowing his secret; it wasn't that he didn't trust her with his life, but she had a tendency to get… over excited.

"Kind of," he replied, keeping his voice low and trying to avoid her searching eyes. How could he phrase this without her freaking out? Then again, her enthusiastic reaction was probably unavoidable. After all, you can't swim without kicking your feet or run without moving your legs; just as those were the facts of life, so was Daphne's predictably wholehearted response to his impending news.

"_Kind of_? What is it?" She was in full-fledged alarm-mode now, abandoning her stupor in favor of complete and utter distress. She began pacing back and forth, quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes and wringing her hands in an anxious manner. "Is it the police? Have you broken the law? Is- is someone after you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Daph," he quickly replied. "Calm down and breathe."

"Calm down? You're knocking at my door, telling me to call "him" and tell "him" you're sick from an imaginary shrimp salad without telling me why? How can I calm down?" she ask, incredulous.

"Not necessarily a shrimp salad. It can be oysters or something."

"David, you'd better lay out the facts for me or I'll make your life miserable."

"It's a little late for that, but nice threat."

"David," she whined, crossing her arms and giving him a frown. He saw the beginnings of a full gripe-attack and, quite frankly, he preferred to avoid it if possible. He impatiently flipped the coffee machine on and waited for it to start brewing.

"First, you have to promise not to maul me for details," he began, giving her a pointed look. "Your usual 'let's tackle David until he spills the beans' is strictly forbidden. Are we clear?"

"Of course," Daphne replied, poorly hiding her growing interest to hear the latest info.

"Secondly, don't do that high-pitched squeal you do when you watch an Alan Rickman movie or realize that the World Market is having a sale."

"Gotcha," she answered, beginning to rock back and forth on her feet, unable to fight her eager grin. She was practically radiating energy, her sleepiness completely forgotten.

David took a long breath and then exhaled, trying to grasp the reality of the situation for himself.

"I'm going on a date," he admitted, hoping to keep it as simple as possible. She didn't have to know the specifics of it all, like the fact said date consisted of dinner with Nick Stokes.

Daphne froze on the spot and he could see her physically resist the natural tendency to bound towards him in a tackle-like mode. However, he couldn't stop the huge smile that grew on her face or the inevitable (and very shrill) squeal that followed it. He winced at the sound; Lord, it was a horrifying thing to hear. Imagine a cat taking its claws and dragging it over a blackboard… now add an amplifier to intensify the noise. Yeah, it was that bad.

He glanced up, wondering what it the world he'd done. What made him think that coming over here had been a good idea? Why was she looking at him like that? And why had he stopped by again? Right, he needed some clothes; at least, he needed some advice on what to wear. Considering that she certainly didn't have any men's clothes lying around, he knew her fashion guidance was all he had to work with. In other words, God help them all.

"Oh my- _you_? On a date? With who?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the desire to get every fact, to dive deep into David's mind and extract the information for herself.

He took an alarmed step back. "No one," he replied, beginning to regret his visit. He couldn't just be happy with his button ups, could he? No-o. He wanted to look _nice_. What the hell had he been thinking?

"You can't go on a date with 'no one'. Who's it with? Where are you going? Do I know him?" She paused with her verbal ambush before eyeing his clothes with a grimace. "And you're not planning to wear that, are you? 'Cause it's a nice shirt and everything, but it's a first date and-''

"Thanks, Sherlock. I'll keep that in mind."

"Is it someone at work? Warrick? Greg?"

"_Sanders? _Do me a favor and never say that again."

"Okay, what about your boss? No, you wouldn't do that," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She stood silent (he hadn't been aware that she was capable of such a thing) for a few seconds, considering the possibilities, before looking up and snapping her fingers. "That Bobby Dawson fellow! Is it him?"

"If Bobby were here, he'd kill you."

"Well, it's not like you're giving me much to work with," she retorted, placing her hands on her hips and shooting him a small frown. "I don't know every single one of your colleagues, after all. There's Ronnie, Bobby, Archie- hey, is it-?"

"No, it's not Archie."

"Fine. Then there's Warrick and your boss, Grissom. And there's Greg, of course, but you'll kill me if I even mention the idea again. Other then that, I can't really…" It was then that she trailed off, the wheels of her mind working over-time. David took another step back as he watched her hands fall from her waist, dangling next to her side.

"Oh my goodness," she said, her voice tinged with amazement, an expression of realization making itself at home on her face.

"Daphne-''

"Wow."

"Daph-''

"Nick Stokes? Good Lord! How did you ever snag a guy like him?"

"That's just the confidence boost I needed tonight," David muttered, shaking his head. How did he "snag" a guy like Nick? It was a good question and he wished he knew the answer.

"It's not that, it's just… wow."

"Do you need a chair?" he asked, rolling his eyes and walking towards the coffee machine, in desperate need of the hot liquid. "Or do you think you can stand up without collapsing from shock?"

"No, I'm really happy for you! I mean, the last time you've had a date was… actually, you haven't had a date since I met you. Where are you guys going? Where are you eating? And, most importantly, are you _really_ going to wear that shirt?"

"Daphne, I _like_ this shirt."

"So do I, but I have a suggestion: maybe we could revamp your wardrobe a little bit?"

"If you think I'm going on one of those clichéd gay guy-straight girl shopping trips, you're out of your mind."

"I didn't mean go shopping with _me_," she replied, shaking her head. "Listen, I'll be right back. Just let me brush my teeth and get some clothes on."

She quickly turned and zoomed towards her bathroom. He listened as some water ran and she spent several minutes brushing, flossing, and harboring her bottle of Listerine with a loving glow in her eye. (She took oral hygiene very seriously.) She then proceeded to root around in her room in search of something to wear for herself. All the while, David made himself at home on her couch, downing his coffee like liquor and wondering what in the world he had managed to get himself into. He could have said no to Nick's offer of dinner and saved himself a whole lot of trouble, but what would he have gained? He _wanted_ to spend time with Nick, _wanted_ to go to dinner with him; how stupid would he have been to reject the date? That was a good question; it was positive that his level of idiocy would have set a precedent for many morons in the generations to come.

However, his nerves were really beginning to attack with a vengeance. What if he messed this up? What if he made a fool out of himself? All of the possibilities and what-ifs were taking their toll. He uneasily eyed the clock; it was fifteen minutes until show time and he needed a getaway plan in a hurry. Maybe he could climb down the fire escape?

His plans for retreat were dashed as Daphne tumbled out of her room, tripping on a shoelace. For a moment, his nerves were forgotten as he absorbed the image before him; she was wearing a pink plaid skirt, a tie-dyed tunic, and red bowling sneakers. It was a truly horrifying sight to behold.

"And they say the sixties are dead," David commented, wrinkling his nose at the fashion disaster that was Daphne Davis.

"Hey, I paid full price for this skirt at Stacey's Natural Boutique," she defended, dusting off her knees. This little fact meant a lot to those who knew her; paying full price for _anything_ was a huge feat, as she rarely went shopping in the first place. For her to actually buy something that wasn't hanging on the clearance rack was a miracle in itself. "It was made in America by appropriately aged employees who are given the benefits that every worker deserves. And anyway, it matches." She took a quick glance in the mirror before pausing, taking in her reflection with a look of uncertainty. "Sort of," she concluded, her voice tinged with hesitation.

"You honestly think I'm going to let you dress me now?" David asked, shaking his head at the spectacle. "I'm just going to wear this and get it over with."

"Hey, I have good taste in style," she argued as she walked towards her front door, obviously ignoring his words.

"Maybe to those who are color blind," David retorted.

"If it's any consolation, _I'm_ not picking out your wardrobe, but I've got connections to someone who can. I'll bet you ten bucks that Nick won't even recognize you by the time we're through."

"We?" David asked, appropriately suspicious. "Who's 'we?' And why is Nick's not recognizing me a good thing?"

"I'm not saying it is," she replied. "I'm just saying that he's going to be… surprised. Under all that sarcasm and all those Oxfords is a good looking guy, y'know."

In the short span of time it took for her to respond to his question, they had exited her apartment and crossed the hallway, resulting in their standing in front of a door with the number '2' and letter 'L' on the face. If David considered the previous few hours of his evening to be slightly odd, then this was undoubtedly the icing on the cake. 2L was the taboo apartment because of the man who lived within it. Sure, he offered wine and carrot juice, but that didn't mean he was nice and he still hadn't grasped the fact that trash pickup wasn't part of the rent clause.

They were standing at Carter's door.

"Daphne, forgive my doubt, but why are we here?"

"The man has clothes you wouldn't believe. And you're just about his size, I think."

"You mean we're going to borrow clothes from _the_ Carter in 2L, whom we're planning on throwing into an active volcano by island cannibals?" David asked, unapologetically skeptical.

"I mingled with him at your party and he's not that bad of a guy," Daphne replied. "Did you know one of his favorite poets was T.S. Eliot? Oh, and you should hear what he wrote for his Ancient Philosophy class in his last year of college!"

"I don't care if he discovered the meaning of life," David retorted. "I'm not going in there. Besides, you can't expect him to open his closet to a guy he barely knows."

"Trust me, he's really nice. Just a little misunderstood, y'know? Like you." She emphasized her confidence in the man by disregarding David's protests and raising her right hand, politely rapping her knuckles against the door.

"I'm not misunderstood," David replied. "As a matter of fact, I make it a point for people to know that I really _am_ an asshole with an attitude problem."

Daphne opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Carter's door swinging open and Carter himself standing on the other side, his dark hair neatly combed and his expression betraying his curiosity as to their being there.

"Hey Dex," Daphne began, shooting the somewhat bewildered man an infectious grin. "Guess what? I have the most exciting news." She paused for only a moment, unable to wait the mere minute it would take for Carter to guess at the big bulletin. "David's going on a date!"

"Whoa," Carter said, taking a step back and opening his door further to allow them entry into his humble abode. "Satan should be building some snow forts right about now."

David valiantly resisted the scathing remark that rested on the tip of his tongue. It was rude to be rude to someone you didn't know well enough to be rude to. Didn't Carter understand this sacred Rule of Rudeness?

"Aren't you the comedian?" Daphne asked, shaking her head at his remark. "Anyway, I refuse to let him go on a date wearing his work clothes."

Carter held up his hand in an attempt to silence her, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. "And I was thinking that maybe you could lend him something of yours, because it's a _first _date and it's all about making a good impression. Or being yourself, whichever works."

"I've heard being yourself can work wonders," Carter replied, and David was forced to hold his tongue once more. Being yourself was a successful tactic for charming people like Nick and Greg, but it wasn't the ideal plan for everyone. It was no wonder that the three of them were still single.

Daphne cast him a hopeful look. "So what do you say?"

"I'd usually say that it's a bad idea to wait until the last minute to get ready for a date," Carter replied. Daphne opened her mouth to argue, looking sufficiently worried that he might say 'no'. But Carter, having caught a glance of her expression, quickly continued on. "However, I think we can figure something out." He turned towards David, giving the technician a slight smile, as if unsure how to react to the sudden circumstances. "Where are you guys going out tonight?"

David blinked. Wait, was Carter offering to help? Satan should be building snow _castles_ by now.

"Going?" he repeated, become conscious of the fact that it was a logical question and realized, upon further reflection, that he had no idea.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Dinner?"

"Black tie or casual?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Carter paused, looking thoughtful. "You guys make yourself at home," he finally said, gesturing towards his couch. "I'll see what I can do."

Daphne let out a sigh of relief as she flopped onto one of Carter's dining room chairs, David finding a seat opposite from her. She smiled and rubbed her hands together, virtually glowing at her successful plan.

"Are you excited?" she asked, grinning broadly.

"I haven't been on a date since big hair and leg warmers were in style," he replied. "So do I feel excited? Maybe. Old? Definitely."

"Aw, don't say that. You aren't old at all."

"This might be my bad memory kicking in, but didn't we celebrate my thirty ninth last week?"

"_I'm_ thirty five and I'm still totally young."

David paused; he was entering dangerous territory. If he learned anything from Jacqui, it was to _never_ note a woman's age, especially to their face. Calling them anything less than youthful was like signing your own death warrant and, quite frankly, David preferred to live.

"Is his first name really Dex?" he asked, veering the subject into another (safer) direction.

She nodded. "Yup. Dexter Carter."

"Both names end with 'er'."

"Point?"

"Why not name him Alan or Jeremy or something?"

"You and your scientific-''

"I'm just saying it would be phonetically proper to-''

"I see you ramble when you're nervous."

"Excuse me? I don't ramble when I'm nervous."

"You're doing it right now."

"No, I'm arguing with you. That doesn't count as rambling."

"So you argue when you're nervous?"

"I'm not nervous."

"Do I look stupid to you?"

"Daph, you're wearing plaid and tie-dye. Don't make me answer that."

She frowned before leaning in, resting her elbows on the table. "Seriously, are you nervous? Because you're going to be perfectly fine."

David heaved a sigh. Truthfully, he _was_ nervous. He hated not knowing something and this entire evening was filled with unknown variables and possibilities.

"I'm not nervous," he replied, unconsciously crossing his arms and looking away. "I just curious as to why he asked. You know just as well as I do that I'm not famous for my conversational skills and it's not like I'm particularly charming."

"Do you know what? Nick Stokes, for whatever reason, obviously saw something in you that everyone else-''

"That everyone else missed?" David finished. "Thank God you're not one of those advice columnists. Just imagine the number of people you'd crush on a daily basis."

She winced. "Sorry."

"Forgiven. And anyway, it can't be because he's after my good looks or bank account."

"Maybe he thinks you're good in bed."

"Performance anxiety? _That_ thought makes this whole evening so much easier."

The woman across from him laughed, shooting her friend a reassuring smile, tinged with a trace of sadness. "Y'know, I don't know a lot about this whole relationship thing. I'm not glamorous by any means. I have no sense of color coordination and I've never had a real boyfriend before, but I can tell when there's chemistry between people and you two guys totally have it. There's not a doubt in my mind that you'll be fine tonight."

"Daph, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're only saying that because I'm depressed right now."

"Depressed? I wasn't aware you knew the meaning of the word."

"Please," she scoffed, leaning back into her chair and rolling her eyes. She had been spending way too much time with David. "I can be depressed just like everyone else. Here you are, going off with some fabulous co-worker and I'll be stuck here with bad television repeats."

David wanted to boost her confidence somehow; she was a beautiful woman, but she wasn't a model. And why should she want to be? Her creativity and bright personality spoke volumes on their own, but men (being the stupid species they were, as Jacqui had so valiantly phrased it.) didn't understand that it went beyond physical appearance. She had to bear the cost of their stupidity.

"You're going to find someone, Daph."

She gave him a small smile. "I know. But if any man on this planet thinks I'm losing weight for them, then they're sadly mistaken. Ever notice how really skinny girls don't seem to have breasts?"

"I've never taken the time to notice."

"You should. I'm not bitter, either. Having curves is healthy."

"So I've heard."

"You're uncomfortable with this conversation, aren't you?"

"A little, but I've heard Jacqui rant over it so much that I'm almost used to it."

She grinned, her usual intensity returning as Carter stepped into the room, breaking up their discussion with a welcome sight.

"Found the perfect thing," he informed, holding up a white dress shirt with blue pinstripes, a dark blazer, and a pair of dark, pre-faded blue jeans, name brand and all. Daphne whistled in appreciation at his choices while David was struck with the horrifying knowledge that he was going to wear something that most might refer to as 'trendy'.

"Casual sophisticated. Dark jeans flatter anyone who wears them and the pinstripes add a touch of style. I approve," Daphne said, nodding her head and giving Dexter Carter (It was still an odd name in David's opinion, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.) a thumbs up.

"I feel like I'm in the middle of a department store," David muttered. "I'm just waiting for you to ask whether I want it gift wrapped."

"The only difference is that I'm not asking for your credit card," Carter replied, handing him the garments. "If he takes you to a nice place, wear the blazer. Enjoy and tell me how it goes."

David accepted them, unsure of what to say. Lesser men (the kind who protected their self-respect at all costs) would have turned their nose at borrowed clothing, and David resisted his natural urge to do the same. He didn't even like Carter that much (he still hadn't gotten the hint about the trash bags), but there was a bigger issue at hand. For instance, he had an entire ten minutes to get prepared and he didn't plan to get dressed in another man's living room.

"Don't stress yourself out," Daphne said, as if reading his mind. "You'll be fine and you'll look amazing. Besides," she whispered, giving him a wide smile. "I bet that shirt'll be a knock out on you."

…

T minus five minutes and counting. Tried to bolt for the door, but Daphne grabbed him. Tried to escape through a window, but was caught. Tried to dial out for help, but had the phone snatched from his hand. The only option he had was to try and drill a large enough hole into the floor and drop into the living room of whoever dwelled below him. It was crazy, but crazy enough that it just might work.

But when he heard an almost hesitant knock on his apartment door, he knew the countdown had ended. There was no way he could get out of it while simultaneously keeping his dignity. He glanced into the mirror again, wondering what in the world he had he been thinking when he agreed to this. Better yet, what had _Nick_ been thinking? He could just imagine Nick right this very moment, fretting in the hallway, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this. Damn Margo and her delicious cooking skills; she had to have put something in their food, a sort of poison that made you more confident and charming than you really were. This had to be her fault, because it couldn't have been his.

However, the fact remained that Nick was waiting for David to let him in and David knew he couldn't just make him stand out there. He cautiously approached the door, as if the inanimate object planned to attack him. Why was he doing this again? Oh, right- he enjoyed putting himself in humiliating situations on a regular basis. It wasn't masochism, but it was eerily close.

He turned the deadbolt and twisted the knob. Here went nothing.

Nick had been nervous, no doubt about that. He had panicked, called up Greg, asked him what in the world he was supposed to wear or, better yet, how he could weasel himself out of his date. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with David; it was more along the lines of not wanting to look like an idiot. He could only imagine the stupid things he'd say or do that would have every technician in the Las Vegas crime lab giggling behind his back for the next couple of months. Greg had stopped by Nick's house and managed to calm him down; he even went so far as to rummage through Nick's closet and assist in making Nick appear as if he were completely tranquil. If it weren't for the younger man's power to calm, it was quite possible that Nick would have arrived at David's apartment a complete wreck while still wearing his bummy house clothes.

But the moment Nick laid eyes on the technician was the moment he completely froze up, unable to speak. David had opened his door slowly, peeking out to make absolutely certain it was Nick (peepholes had a terrible tendency to lie) before seeming to resign himself to inevitable. He swung it all the way open, not meeting Nick's eyes. He seemed tense and uncomfortable in his own skin, but he certainly looked… different. Good different. Loosely phrased, a _very_ good different.

"Wow." Nick inwardly slapped himself; surely he could say more than that, couldn't he? "You clean up."

"You probably should have just stopped at 'wow'."

Nick closed his eyes and wondered how in the world he had managed to insult his date in the first five seconds. Was he going for some sort of record? "I'm not saying you look bad the rest of the time," he replied, hoping to correct his mistake.

"Don't get used to it," David warned, leaning against the doorframe and giving Nick a small, derisive smile. "I turn back into a pumpkin at midnight."

"I'm sure you make a great pumpkin. Better yet, an evil, conniving stepsister."

"And what are you, Prince Charming?"

"Obviously."

"Then if I'm an ugly step-''

"Hey, I said 'conniving'. I don't remember saying anything about 'ugly'."

David blinked, hoping to fight the small army of deranged butterflies that were making themselves at home in his stomach. "Then you insist on being specific, if I'm a _conniving_ stepsister and you're Prince Charming, then our scripts are screwed. Who's Cinderella?"

"Do you have to take everything apart?"

"It's the annoying scientist inside of me. And anyway, in the past two days I've been called Oscar from Sesame Street, Grumpy from the Snow White, and now I'm a nameless, evil stepsister from Cinderella. Call me crazy, but I'm sensing a pattern here."

"I said _conniving. _If you think about it, it's really a compliment."

"So I'm devious and manipulative?"

"More like shrewd and cunning."

"No offense, but I'm wondering how you managed to get so many girlfriends."

"You should probably wonder why they didn't last that long."

"With compliments like 'conniving', I can take a guess."

Nick laughed and glanced at his shoes, somewhat abashed. This felt so easy; they could keep it going without feeling utterly stupid.

"You ready to go?" Nick asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to seem unruffled, as if he hadn't been going crazy a mere half an hour ago. David took a breath and nodded, throwing caution to the wind. He could do this, right?

He had refrained from informing Jacqui, Archie, or anyone else at work about his date, preferring not to have them batter him for the specifics and the who, what, and how of the entire ordeal. However, he was beginning to regret his silence. Sure, his friends would have been annoying, but they would have bombarded him with pep talks and words of encouragement as well. After all, he needed all the advice he could get. Now he felt unarmed, going into battle with nothing but a plastic sword and cardboard shield to protect him. He was done for, but he'd at least enjoy his demise.

"Sure," he replied as he closed and locked his apartment door behind him. "How-''

An excited "Hey!" and Daphne sticking her head out of her apartment, an animated grin plastered across her face, cut him off. "You're leaving and going on your first date! I'm so thrilled for you!"

David felt himself begin to flush. Really, the woman was being ridiculous. "Don't hurt yourself," he replied. "And how did you know he was here?" There was a pause before he pointed an accusing finger in her direction. "You've been looking out of the peephole for the past ten minutes, haven't you? I thought I told you to stop doing that. It's creepy."

"You're going to tell me all about it, right?" she asked, completely ignoring his accurate allegation.

"Like you'll give me a choice," David muttered.

"That's the Dave I know and adore. And wait, before you guys go," she began, rummaging through one of her large skirt pockets and pulling out a plastic Hello Kitty camera, "I want a picture."

"Daphne, this isn't like prom. It's _dinner_. Besides," he said, groping for his last few shreds of dignity. "I date sometimes."

Daphne wound the film and pressed the flash button in preparation. "Since when? I moved in a month after you did, and if your track record is anything to go-''

She paused at the look David was shooting her. Oops. Maybe she _was_ giving out too much information.

"Well, anyway," she continued, dropping her previous sentence. "I guess all that matters is tonight, right? So smile and say 'Daphe'!"

David sighed but stood next to his unusually compliant date; in any other circumstance, any one else would have run in the opposite direction, screaming their head off. How could Nick take Daphne's insanity with such stride?

She positioned the camera over her eye and pressed the top button, filling the hallway with a quick flash of light. David blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the floating dots that were suddenly hovering in front of him. He shook his head slightly before shooting her an annoyed look.

"Is your photographic craving sated?" he asked, not at all amused by her playful grin. At her nod, it almost appeared that she was going to allow them to actually leave the complex.

But because the universe often conspired against David, barraging him with odd coincidences and strange circumstances, their strategy of escape was put on hold by the loud creaking of hinges that desperately needed oiling.

The door covered with memorabilia had opened, revealing the looming figure of Bernard Shaw. He sent the trio a questioning look before arching an eyebrow. "What's all the excitement?" he asked. "Sounds like there's too much fun going on out here."

"David and Nick are going out to dinner," Daphne replied, still grinning like a mad woman. "Isn't that the most fabulous news?"

"_David's_ going out? You must be some sweet talker, Mr. Stokes. I ain't never seen David go out, and I've been livin' here since nineteen seventy three."

Nick's face had taken on a rosy hue. "Thanks," he replied, flashing him a charming smile. David gave him his silent approval; it was the kind of smile that made people instantly trust him. As the evening began to slowly unravel itself, it was becoming evident that Nick was going to need that particular smile if he ever hoped to leave the second floor.

"You take good care of him, y'hear?"

"Plan to, sir," Nick replied, looking unexpectedly amused. Why wasn't he completely mortified?

"What's the deal?" asked another voice, intruding on their chat. "Did the landlord die?"

Bernard, who would never actually wish harm upon anyone, rolled his eyes in a way that indicated he certainly wouldn't mind if their 'Sorry, but I gotta raise the rent again' landlord took a long walk off of a short pier. "Nah, but Dave's finally got him a date."

"Really?" Carter asked, looking interested at the news, as if he hadn't been in on the entire plot. "I never would have guessed. Nick Stokes, right?"

"Yeah," the Texan replied, sticking out his hand. Carter leaned in and shook it. "Nice to see you again."

"Thanks. You too."

"Hey, does Louise know all about this?" Bernard asked, glancing towards Ms. Rainey's door. David inwardly groaned; what was this, a party? "Seems only proper. She adored Nick and all."

"How could I have forgotten her?" Daphne asked, looking scandalized before heading towards the elderly woman's door while David resisted the urge to protest. "She'd be crushed if she couldn't see Dave off, you know?"

David grimaced as the young woman pounded against her door and took a quick glance around; what would it take to get out of here? Well, Nick could tackle Carter out of the hallway and then they could make a break for the elevator. Better yet, they could simply dash for David's own apartment and climb out the fire escape. That wasn't too extreme, was it? After all, he had a feeling these people weren't going to let them leave and, if they did, they'd haze Nick to the point that he'd be calling Warrick to get him the hell out of there. Could David blame him? Absolutely not. If anything, he'd hope Warrick would hitch him a ride as well.

David's wandering thoughts were interrupted by a sweet voice. "Nick!" Ms. Rainey said, clapping her hands together and breaking into one of those joyful smiles that made David slightly less unnerved. She was wearing a long, old-time nightgown and had her silver hair up in curlers. "How wonderful to see you again."

"You too, Ms. Rainey."

"Please, call me Louise. Where are you boys headed out to?"

"Dinner."

"Oh, really! A date? Well, I've been telling David that it was high time for him to go and find himself someone special."

"Did you?" Nick asked, his voice going higher than intended. David winced. Next time? Yeah, right. There was never going to _be_ a next time- Nick was far too humiliated by _this_ time. And even if (by some bizarre chance) he did want to go out again, he'd have to avoid the mob-like neighbors. Nick would be forced to resort to throwing pebbles at David's window, like in the movies. Or he could just call from the parking lot, but where was the romance in that?

"Now I want you boys to have a good time," she said, smiling amiably. "And don't stay out too late."

It was almost like his mother was there, warning them to get back at a decent hour and to use-

"And don't forget to use protection."

Ding! Sorry, wrong answer, but thanks for playing.

"Look at the time, folks," David said, grabbing Nick's arm and steering him towards the elevator. "It was nice of you all to humiliate me, but we're going to be late."

"Not a problem," Daphne replied, waving. "If you need any sort of embarrassing moment, call me up! Ms. R's got tons of stories to tell!"

David had a mental image of the two woman crowding around the phone, waiting with baited breath for a call from Nick, requesting some mortifying tale about David's personal life. David rounded the corner and punched the 'down' button before Nick could even catch up with him. He could barely even look at the other man until they both got onto the elevator and the doors closed.

Aware that he couldn't stare at the wall the entire ride down, David finally cast a careful glance towards Nick. Instead of being uncomfortable or even embarrassed, Nick was smiling in that way he had smiled before. It had been at the party; a mixture of shyness and amusement, as if he was hiding a secret. They stared at each other for what felt like hours when in reality, it was only a few moments. Finally, Nick grinned and looked at his feet.

"Do you ever get used to those guys?" he asked.

"You mean the telepathy and flooded bathrooms? Absolutely. It's the days where no one tries to read my mind and I don't get some distress call from Daphne that's unsettling."

"I have a feeling you need a survival plan to live with those folks."

"'I Will Survive' should start playing every time I walk into a room."

"Disco? That's so sixties, man."

"We're giving away our ages. It's kind of sad, actually. Besides, disco was the worst."

"I don't know," Nick replied, the elevator letting out a 'ding' and the doors sliding open. "John Travolta made it look good."

"John Travolta makes everything look good. It's a moot point," David replied as they emerged into the lobby and towards the front doors.

"So what, you have a little crush on Mr. Saturday Night Fever? I hope you know that there's no way I'm dancing disco for you."

David snorted at the mental image and, as if reading his mind, Nick burst into laughter as well. "I'm not asking for actual dancing," David replied. "I just want the white suit."

"I think we're going to have decide on the level of sacrifices we're willing to make here. For instance, I draw the line at white suits."

"But I think you could make it work. Doesn't my confidence in you count for anything?" David innocently asked. Nick laughed and shook his head as he unlocked the truck.

"Nuh-uh. It was a nice try, though."

"So," David began, sliding into the passenger's seat. "How do you plan on dazzling me?"

"You hungry?"

"Starving," David replied as he fastened his seat belt. "I don't think I've eaten since breakfast."

"What? Why?"

"Well, if you factor in the hours I spent pacing around my living room in a nervous circle, the period it took to panic about what I was going to wear, and the last desperate minutes when I tried to escape, then I'd have to say that I simply ran out of time."

Nick glanced over at the man beside him. "You did all that just because I was taking you out?"

"No, it's what I always do in my spare time," David deadpanned.

"So I make you nervous?" Nick asked, flashing him a satisfied grin. David let out a scoff and rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to act so happy about it," David answered. "And it's not exactly nervousness. It's-''

"Anxiousness? Uneasiness? Restlessness?"

"What are you, a human thesaurus?"

"My brilliance is all part of my charm."

"Ah, and your fabled modesty makes its debut. You've been spending way too much time with Sanders."

Nick laughed. "Sorry, but I can't help but like it."

"What, your modesty?"

Nick shook his head. "Making you nervous," he replied, sending the other man a small smile. David felt his heart nearly stop and he ducked his head, trying not to give himself away.

…

The restaurant had only a slight air of snootiness to it. Of course, David never liked to use the word 'snootiness', because it was something only Greg would say, but how could he express it an differently? It wasn't exactly a five star celebrity eatery, but it wasn't Margo's Drink 'n Dine either, which meant you could afford the food while enjoying regularly vacuumed carpets. David was admiring this one aspect as they were seated at a clean table (_Clean_! Although David never had the guts to mention it to Margo, clean tables were certain to draw in customers. Then again, he was trying to avoid the Tabasco sauce, so he often kept his suggestions to himself.) where there was an adequate amount of lighting and a minimal amount of conversation, making it possible for them to speak to each other without having to shout.

"It's nice," David commented as he slid into the booth across from Nick. "I'm kind of starting to regret taking you to Margo's. You must think I have the worst taste."

"Oh, I think your bad taste is common knowledge," Nick easily replied.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," David responded and Nick couldn't help but grin.

"I liked Margo. She was nice."

"And mouthy."

"But she makes the best onion rings."

"Amen to that. However, one more coffee laced with Tabasco sauce and I think I might die."

"The lab will miss you."

"Don't overplay the 'concerned date' too much, Nick. It's almost like you're being insincere, but that's just me talking."

"Who said anything about being concerned?"

"Don't mock me."

"Who's mocking? I was being serious."

A pretty waitress approached them with a cute smile, a figure Jacqui would complain about, and a pair of clear green eyes to match. She cast the two men an interested look, looking curious as to why they were grinning like mad.

"I'm Gwen and I'm going to be your waitress for tonight," she said, introducing herself with a dazzling grin. "What can I get you two to drink?"

"I'd like a water, please," David requested, smiling to repress the gag reflex. Most of his time spent with Sanders was time wasted, but there were occasional moments where the younger man would actually sprout bits of useful information. Like, for instance, a smile might help you resist the urge to puke on gorgeous people.

"And for you, handsome?" Gwen asked, turning to Nick. David felt his heart hit the bottom of his stomach. He didn't have much insecurity; most of the time, he felt that if people didn't like him then it was their problem. But there were sparse moments throughout his life that he felt like a piece of wall that blended into the background. Was this what would always happen? Would he have to fight for Nick and battle every person who came onto him? He could never compete and he was too tired to even try it.

"Sprite, if you don't mind," Nick replied, giving her an easy smile although it missed its genuine brightness. Gwen nodded and gave him a wink before saying, "Sure thing. Coming right up." David couldn't help himself when he glanced over to see Nick's reaction; he was a scientist, after all, and did far too much people watching. Did Nick find her attractive? Anyone would have to admit she was physically beautiful, but did Nick agree?

She turned and practically strutted towards the kitchen even as David kept his eyes glued to the table. Agreeing to this had been a horrible idea; watching _You've Got Mail_ with Daphne would have been better.

Nick was silent as well, appropriately embarrassed by the exchange. He ran his hand through his hair before looking up, trying to lighten the mood.

"That- that never happens," he said, clearing his throat. David couldn't help but be entertained at his sad attempt to cover it up.

"There's no point in trying to deny it."

"It doesn't, honest," Nick quickly responded, like a child trying to prove he was innocent. "I mean, that's nev-''

"Please, it's fine," David interrupted, hoping to simply forget the entire thing. "It doesn't bother me."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

There was a tense, awkward silence before Nick muttered, "Do you always lie this badly?"

"Not always. I'm pretty good at it most of the time." At Nick's silence, David looked up from the menu. He could see that Nick was honestly uneasy, Gwen's obvious fascination an unexpected barb in their first twenty minutes together. It wasn't supposed to be like that, but David could only hope Nick would believe him when he said that it wasn't a big deal.

"She reminds me of Chandra," the technician mused off-handedly, hoping to change the subject.

"Chandra didn't last the night, remember?"

"Remember? Of course I do."

Nick paused a moment, as if he was trying to evaluate and understand the meaning behind those words. The tone David had used, the way he expressed it… well, it gave Nick the impression that David remembered her parting just a bit too well. He sent the technician an uncertain look before finally asking, "David, what did you do?"

"Do? I don't know what you're talking about," he sweetly replied. Why did he always get blamed for these things? It wasn't as if he chased Chandra out with a butcher knife or anything.

"Chandra left because she wanted to, right? You didn't threaten her with Sara's day-old coffee, did you?"

"_Sara's_ coffee?" David asked, as if appalled. "That would be too brutal, even for me."

Nick's eyebrows rose in a way that indicated he didn't believe the other man in the least. The technician was silent for a moment before sighing, forfeiting himself to the unavoidable conversation. Nick knew he'd done something; the only question was what.

"Maybe I would be that brutal, but I was never forced to resort to that."

Nick gave a small choking sound and shot David an incredulous look. "_Forced?_ Are you saying that you guys plotted to get rid of her?"

"_Plotted_ is such a strong term. We prefer _assisted_."

"Please tell me you're joking," Nick begged, his expression one of pleading. "I mean, you just admitted a leading CSI that you made it so that an employee of the Las Vegas crime la-''

"She was annoying and rude. She even commented on Jacqui's weight."

Nick wrinkled his nose in confusion. "But Jacqui's fine."

"Try telling Chandra that. Besides, Catherine was in it just like the rest of us. And as I recall, two leading CSIs had a small wager on how long Ms. Moore would last."

"That's completely irrelevant. Warrick and I weren't _trying_ to drive her nuts. Plus, it's not like Sara hasn't called you annoying and rude on occasion."

"That's not all she's called me," David replied, which was true. On a bad day, Sara's muttered a string of curses a mile long, most of them revolving around the technician. At Nick's dubious look, David knew he would have to continue. "So maybe Archie meddled with Chandra's printer and maybe I left some crumbs on her table. You can't prove it. Besides, we have Mia now."

"Call me crazy, but Mia's not really in your… group."

"That's because Mia's normal and she intends on staying that way. She has her own set of friends, but she'll drop by at birthday parties when she's desperate enough for baked goods."

"If that's th-''

Nick was cut off by a very unfamiliar sound: the ringing of David's cell phone. It was often David's natural reaction to cuss out whoever was rude enough to let it ring in the first place; his rung once or twice on a monthly basis, so he certainly didn't expect it to start buzzing in the middle of his first date in what felt to be decades. He quickly reached into his pocket to grab it; it rarely rang and the speed dial contained very few numbers, most of them either co-workers or family. However, when the blasted thing _did_ ring, it was often Grissom, asking if David could work on his day off or come in a few hours early.

"I'm sorry," David apologized, his words genuine. "It never rings. I don't even know how to use it half the time." He was a kind-of plumber, not a techno geek; that would be Archie's purview.

He quickly looked at the screen, hoping that it wouldn't be flashing Grissom's name. He felt relieved when it didn't read his boss's number, but his dread returned full force when _My Worst Nightmare_ displayed across the top of the screen. That affectionate title could only belong to one person.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice betraying his wariness. Did he really want to know what the woman on the other end of the line had to say?

"_David_!"

David jumped, moving the phone a few inches away from his ear. Jacqui Franco could be loud when she had the mind to be.

"Jacq?"

"_Who else_?" she asked, completely fired up. "_Buster, you're in such big trouble! I can't believe you didn't tell us about your date tonight_!"

"That's because it was a secret. How did you find out?"

"_Daphne called me. You better believe the rest of us are going to want details on Monday. I swear I'll get Ronnie to put you in a chokehold. Or Bobby'll shoot you or something. We want a word-by-word account!_"

"Jacqui, do you know what time it is?"

"_About eight?_"

"And do you know where I am?"

"_How am I supposed to know where you- oh_." She paused. "_Ooooh_._ Sorry_."

"Wrap it up, Jacq."

"_I still_-''

"Jacqui, are you dying?"

"_Dying? No_."

"Is Bobby, Archie, Ronnie, Sanders, Daphne, Ms. Rainey, or one of my family members bleeding profusely?"

"_Not really_."

"Then I'm hanging up now."

"_Fine, but unless you sneak out of Las Vegas in the middle of the night, you better believe you'll be dishing out those details on Monday_."

"I'll get Nick to shoot you first."

"_You aren't in the protective part of the relationship yet. Trust me, he's not going to kill someone for you_."

"Bye."

"_Dave_-''

David punched the 'end call' button and quickly turned the phone off once the screen had cleared.

"I can wager a bet as to who that was," Nick said, clearly amused.

"So can everyone else in a three yard radius," David replied, casting a quick look around them before stashing the phone away in hopes that he could forget Jacqui's threatening words.

"She calls because she cares."

"The woman's nosy, period."

"True, but you can't blame her for being concerned."

"What does she think you're going to do?" David asked, shaking his head at Jacqui's persistence. "Unless you have some intricate, wicked plan to hurt me in the course of the evening, then I think she may be overreacting."

"Your suffering has been my evil plot along," Nick replied. "Duh. I can't believe you're just catching on."

David snorted with laughter and Nick grinned. David could admit –to himself, at least- that he had wondered once or twice what it was like to be with Nick in this manner: comfortable, easy, humorously intimate.

"I wouldn't blame you if it was," the technician replied. "But you might have to take a number. I'm pretty sure I'm on several people's hit list."

"I think I hear your rumored low self-esteem."

"You've been hanging around Mia, haven't you?"

"Totally," Nick replied, mockingly solemn. "I've been sneaking into your super secret technician meetings for the sole purpose of hearing Mia's opinion of you."

"You're point is acknowledged."

"Score one for me. Besides, I think the only hit list you're on is Chandra's."

David laughed at that; he simply laughed without the sardonic smile or cynical tone, which surprised Nick. It was a nice sound to hear and made David so much more humanistic, giving him an attractive glow that was often void from the technician's face

"I think her list contains the name of every employee at the lab."

"Yeah, but yours is at the top," Nick countered.

"It's a flattering addition to my reputation."

"You have a reputation?"

"Archie couldn't believe it either, but we all do. Ask anyone, Sidle especially."

"I try to block out her ranting, so I wouldn't know. Your reputation can't be _that_ bad." At David's arched brow, Nick couldn't help but continue. "Okay, so maybe it is. Not that I would know."

David scoffed, amused at Nick's horrible lying. "You don't have to cover it up, Nick. The lab walls have ears and anyone can tell you that I went about it the wrong way."

"It?" Nick echoed, clearly lost.

David found himself looking at the bowl of sugar packets instead of Nick, feeling stupid for even mentioning his bad social skills. However, the chance of escaping the conversation was slim to none.

"Trying to fit in," he admitted. "First, I tried to be nice, but people saw right through that. And then there was me being mean, but no one found that to be particularly attractive either. Then, of course, there was the doomed sucking up. Strike three. A devastating loss to the home team."

"This might just be my common sense talking, but have you ever tried being yourself?" Nick asked.

"Myself?"

"Like right now, without any facades or pretences."

David blinked. "I'm sorry, but have you not met me before?"

"Sure have, and I happen to like the not mean, not nice, not sucking up David Hodges."

"So you want me to be my sarcastic, charming self?"

"Well, you got the sarcastic part right. We might have to work on the charming thing."

"You know, if we were at Margo's, I'd throw Tabasco sauce at you and then storm out."

"It's a good thing we're surrounded by all these-''

"Snobby, rich people?"

"I was going to say 'upstanding and influential citizens', but whatever floats your boat."

"I like keeping things realistic."

"Really? I never noticed."

"All right, boys," Gwen said, interrupting the spar of wits by setting down two glasses. "Here are your drinks. Now what can I get you boys to eat?" Gwen and her green eyes had returned with a vengeance. Had she reapplied her cosmetics? It looked like it. Not that David would notice; after all, he didn't care if women put extra effort into trying to impress Nick. Really, he didn't.

Nick, not acknowledging the way she smiled at him, said, "The steak please, medium. Baked potato."

David blinked. Wait a minute, they were at a restaurant. A restaurant with menus. Why hadn't he looked at said menu? He hadn't even gotten past the salad section, which he wasn't planning to eat anyway.

"I'll have the same," David requested.

"Sure thing. It'll be out in a little while, okay?" She made a few more notes on her small notebook before asking, "Do you need any extra ice or lemons or anything?

"No, we're fine," Nick courteously replied.

"Yes you are," Gwen responded, flipping her chestnut curls over her shoulder. David silently choked at the response, barely able to register the next question she directed towards Nick. "I was… I was thinking that maybe I could give you my number? We could go out for coffee sometime, if you want."

The technician felt a wave of dizziness assault him and he felt relieved that he was already sitting down. Pretty girl. Handsome guy. It was only predictable.

However, Nick sent her a smile that was both sweet and chivalrous, but shook head. "That's really nice of you, but I'm kind of with someone right now."

"Oh." She seemed to deflate like a balloon. "Girlfriend, right? The good ones are either taken or gay. I've never seen anything like it."

"I mean I'm with someone right _now_."

"You mean…" She glanced at David (who was beginning to feel rather sorry for her) and flushed a deep red, truly ashamed. "I'm- I'm so sorry! I mean, I just… wow. So you're taken _and_ gay."

"Kind of," Nick replied. He sent a smile David's way and David felt himself return it. "I'm really taken by him, anyway," he continued, and Gwen grinned despite herself.

…

An hour and a half later, it was hard for either of them to remember what they had been so anxious about in the first place. That was, at least, how David felt when they made their way to his apartment. He held his breath, waiting for someone to stick their head out of an anonymous door and begin quizzing him, but it seemed that even his nosy neighbors knew when to not interrupt something. He expected it to feel odd to unlock his door and invite Nick Stokes inside –not for _that_ reason, mind you- but it wasn't and neither was Nick shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a nearby chair, looking like he belonged in David's living room. It wasn't odd, either, to grab two beers from the refrigerator and both of them flop onto his couch, as if they had been doing it for years.

"I'm exhausted."

Nick couldn't help but laugh at David's surprisingly candid confession. "How's that?" he asked, making himself at home on the technician's couch.

"Between fighting off friends and neighbors and trying to impress you with my humanistic side, it's hard to believe people date for fun."

"You had a bad time?" Nick's voice held a hint of worry and the Texan looked as if he were about to launch into an apology; he liked David and thought the evening had gone well, Gwen aside. Had he said something offensive? Done something wrong? Sure, it hadn't been as picturesque as he'd hoped, but-

"That's not it at all," David quickly replied. "I only meant that Carter makes it look effortless. No nerves, no worries, no anything."

"Dating is simple if you're comfortable with the person."

"I suppose that's why we're sprawled out like this, right?"

Nick grinned and nodded. 'Sprawl' was definitely the correct term for their positions; Nick was curled up on one end of the couch while David was leaning back, his left foot resting on his coffee table. It was like they were relaxing from themselves, aware that there was no need to be anything less or more than true to their own personality.

"Well, it's a comfy couch and easy to sprawl on. I've gotta admit that Greg was right about it."

"Sanders was right about what?" David asked, suitably suspicious. "Whatever he said about my couch or anything within the confines of this apartment is a complete lie."

"I think he experienced a scary episode of furniture lust," Nick admitted, amused by David's wary question. "He swore this was the greatest sofa in the city. The only question I have is why he would know so much about it."

David sent him an innocent look. "I made him sleep here after that one romp in the bedroom, although he made me swear never to tell anyone."

Nick's expression was priceless; the bottle of beer was half way to his lips but he was no longer moving, unable to decide whether or not to believe David's explanation. The technician was so good at being serious that it was difficult to deduce whether he and Greg had ever had a 'thing' or not.

Nick blinked again, promising himself that he wasn't going to be jealous. "Please tell me you're kidding. Lie if you have to."

David let out a laugh and wore an expression that could only be described as pleasantly smug, pleased that he had fooled the other man. "Don't be ridiculous. He had to stay a few nights when he had his place repainted, during which I had to bear his horrible taste in music and the hour he spent in my bathroom every morning, trying to get his hair to look like he just rolled out of bed."

Nick let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding; the crisis of David having a past relationship with Greg was diverted. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"Oh, it was. He and Daphne liked to conspire together, and since he was here, that meant Archie and Bobby were here as well. Bobby I can handle. But Archie's Star Trek marathons? God help me, I almost sent a bullet through my television screen _and _Archie's head."

"David, that's a terrible thing to say."

"Tell me about it. I just bought that TV last year."

"I notice that you don't seem to have much of an emotional attachment to people. Shooting one of your best friends isn't the best way to woo a guy," Nick observed, clearly teasing.

"I'm pretty bad at the whole 'wooing' thing," David replied. "You'll either have to teach me or prepare yourself for a serious lack of romance."

Nick's gaze flickered towards David and he bit his lip before setting down his beer. David wasn't sure what Nick was planning to do, but when the Texan moved towards him and leaned in closer, he got the general idea. The technician had been nervous and fidgety before their date began, unsure of how he was supposed to act in order to keep Nick's interest. However, it soon became clear that all Nick wanted was for David to be himself, no masks and no scripts. This was a miracle in itself; his qualities didn't always mesh with others, but was he sure about this?

He felt his heart pounding loudly in his chest while his skin was searing with heat, flushing his entire body a shade of tomato. It was difficult to grasp the reality of the situation; Nick Stokes, reputed ladies man wanted David Hodges, reputed people-despising scum. Somehow, this seemed wrong. His biggest fear –even bigger than making himself look stupid- was that Nick was doing this out of some sort of pity or even compellation. The thought that Nick might have felt the urge to repay David for finding the explosives had crossed his mind more than once. Did Nick feel that he could repay David with a phony relationship? Some might refer to his paranoid thoughts as a result of low self-esteem, but David was only being logical. How else could he explain Nick's interest? It had to stem from _some_where.

"Nick?" he whispered, flabbergasted that he sounded so small and unsure. His mind was racing at a million miles an hour and he couldn't stop the waver in his voice.

Nick's eyelids fluttered open, his brown eyes meeting David's. Neither of them spoke for a moment; instead, they took the opportunity to absorb each other. David couldn't believe what he was about to do; then again, what had Jacqui called him just a few weeks ago? A moron? Her observation was certainly proving itself true at this point.

"I'm just… I'm not good at this," David muttered, feeling nervous and humiliated all at once, a storm of insecurities ripping through his mind. He was practically aching for the kiss he had been foolish enough to interrupt, but he knew there was only one way he could go about their newfound relationship… and that was slow. Very, very slow.

Nick looked at him a moment and David felt the need to explain, to make crystal clear that he wasn't pushing him away; he was simply awkward and didn't know better. He'd been married before, but that wasn't like anything he was feeling right that moment. How was he supposed to express that? What words could he use? How could he know this was real?

"I haven't done this in a long time. I've forgotten a lot of things, but I had a really good night with you," he admitted, feeling both perfectly safe and completely threatened in Nick's close presence.

"Yeah? Me too. I didn't know whether I was supposed to…" Nick made a gesture between them, signifying the fact that he was hesitant on whether or not to initiate a kiss. "But I didn't want you to think that I didn't want to- well, do this again. Sometime. You know, whenever."

"Whenever?" David asked, quirking an eyebrow at Nick's hurried words.

Nick grinned sheepishly. "This isn't exactly easy to ask," he confessed. "Would you like to do this again next Saturday? If you aren't doing anything else, that is."

"Nick, I'm not a social butterfly. Saturday nights are usually spent with Daphne torturing me by watching 'You've Got Mail'."

"My sisters loved that movie."

"And thus you understand my problem."

"What, being tortured by women?"

"Daph's relentless. One day you'll understand."

"I hope so," Nick replied. At first, David didn't understand the meaning of his words and it must have showed on his face because Nick smiled again. "I hope I get to stick around here long enough to understand it," he clarified. "With you."

Suddenly, David didn't care what Nick's reasons for dating him were. He just really, really, really wanted to kiss him. Instead, he said the only thing that came to his mind at the moment: "Thanks for dinner."

David inwardly winced. How pathetic was he? That was quite possibly the most unromantic thing _ever_. David made a mental note to buy a book on the subject, something akin to _How to Make Nick Stokes Fall for You in Ten Days. _

"No problem," Nick replied, looking as if he could read David's thoughts, aware that David was more or less stumbling blindly along, trying to feel his way in the dark. He rose from his seat on the couch and languidly found his jacket. "I'll see you at work?"

"Holed up with a microscope while wondering what my life has been reduced to."

Nick grinned. "Or cowering in a storage closet, trying to escape Jacqui."

"Are you ever going to let me live that down?"

"Never," the Texan promised. "I'll haunt you with it for the rest of your days." He grinned again and headed towards the door, opening it before turning towards the other man, his expression unexpectedly honest.

"Thanks for saying yes," he said, his voice steady but tentative in tone.

David didn't need to ask what Nick was talking about. He knew it was probably difficult for the CSI to gather up the courage and ask him out on a date, but David was more than grateful that he had.

"Thanks for asking."

Nick shot him a reassured smile and left the apartment, closing the door behind him as David let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It felt incredibly surreal; sure, he'd always noticed Nick, had always wanted to know what it would be like to be in a relationship with him, but for it to actually _happen? _He tried to tell himself that it was genuine, that Nick wasn't doing this to appease some twisted logic. Nick would never be so dishonest; it seemed so against his nature, even if he _was _trying to repay David for saving their lives that night, for getting that feed and tracing the explosives.

David would wait for the other shoe to fall, but he'd milk it for all it was worth until then.

A moment of stupor passed before he realized he was still sitting on his couch, gazing at the door, as if hoping it had all of his dating answers. His body was humming, energized, the alien feeling making his entire being come alive. God, he was crazed. He should just go to sleep and forget about Nick; just because they were planning to go out again didn't mean anything. He should start moving and maybe even get ready for bed. Really. He should.

David was startled by the small knock that interrupted his hazy thoughts. He didn't need another second to know who was already there; he had almost been expecting it. He debated answering it, but the woman on the other side would be unyielding in her crusade for knowledge. With a small sigh, he rose from his seat and walked towards the door, twisting the knob to reveal Daphne, decked out in her PJs once more and wearing the excited grin of a child on Christmas.

"How did it go?" she whispered. "What happened? Is he still here? Should I leave?"

"Why are you whispering?"

"Oh. Sorry. So how'd it go? Give me details, I beg thee!"

"It went well."

"_Well_?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the unsatisfying response. "You have to give me more than that! On a scale from one to ten, how was it?"

David paused. Well, at the restaurant he found himself spilling way too much information about his personal life. And afterwards, at the apartment, he acted way too eager to see Nick again, which he was. By all accounts, he should have shoved Nick away twenty minutes into their date to return home and brood.

"A ten," he finally admitted, because it had been a great evening and he couldn't help but eagerly wait for next Saturday.

"Really?" she screeched, her eyes wide with anticipation. "What base did you guys get to?"

"Base?" he echoed, shooting her a disbelieving look. "What base?"

"You know, first base is kissing, second base is a little bit of touching, third base is… Well, home plate is going all the way. Not that I would know," she quickly added before lowering her voice, as if afraid someone might overhear. "I've never had sex before. Sex scares the heck out of me."

"TMI, Daph."

She shot him an evil look before hurriedly asking, "So? Give me a base!"

"It's personal," he replied, crossing his arms across his chest. "Relationships happen to be private business, not that you would understand the meaning of the word."

She rolled her eyes. "Privacy is overrated. Now give me the details or I'll install a hidden camera in your apartment next time."

"Fine," he muttered, surrendering. How long did they plan to have this conversation in the threshold of his apartment? "But you'd have my deepest appreciation if you wouldn't enlighten the entire world."

"Sure, sure," she replied, a clear indication that she no intention of honoring David's request.

He took a breath before speaking, trying to organize all of his thoughts. "We were going to –you know- he was going to and all, but I- we both decided that it was a little awkward and maybe next time would be better."

"What, have sex?" she queried, her expression one of surprise.

David shot her an appalled look, feeling himself still at the mere thought. Good Lord, didn't this woman have any decency? "Are you out of your mind? Of course not!"

"Then what are you talking about?"

"Kissing, Daph!"

"Ooooh," she replied, nodding her head in agreement. "Gotcha'. You're one of those classy guys."

"Classy? No, I was just scared out of my mind. I haven't kissed someone since before the millennium changed."

Daphne sighed. "I've never kissed anyone. At all."

"Your track record is worse than mine."

"I prefer to think that I'm a tasteful woman searching for her perfect man."

"At least you can get away with that excuse," he muttered.

"We're both losers and there's no need to be ashamed of it. Hey," she said, turning from her position at his doorstep to step out into the middle of the hall with an uncomfortable amount of purpose to her movements. "Maybe I can lead my life through yours. You know, if you get kissed, then I can be all excited about it. Sound like a deal?"

"Like I have any say-so over it. And what are you doing?"

As if to answer his question, the woman stood there in the center of the floor and bellowed, "Yo! He's back!" Within a moment, it seemed as if the entire second floor was sticking their head out of their respective apartment door, eager to hear the latest gossip.

"They didn't even make it out of the dugout," she informed. The occupants of the floor seemed to groan with disappointment, but immediately perked up when she carried on speaking.

"However," she continued, "Don't fret! There's always next Saturday!"

David was sure his eyes were the size of small planets, but he couldn't help himself. Had the whole second story of the Sahara Apartment Complex known about his date? And actually _talked _about it? He quickly vowed to get revenge on Daphne as he locked his door and got ready for bed. Tomorrow, he decided, would be spent deciding how in the world he was supposed to escape Jacqui's evil, gossip-hungry clutches and how, exactly, he would get his payback regarding Daphne and her habit of spilling the beans.

_Could you see I want you by the way I push you away? Yeah!  
__Don't judge me tomorrow by the way I'm acting today-  
__Mix the words up with the actions-  
__do it all for your reaction- Yeah!  
__Hey! Hey!  
__Get tangled up in me_.

_Get Tangled Up In Me_, Skye Sweetnam

P.S. I'm so sorry, but I'll use the museum for the second date. I was all set to write it, but it refused to fit into this chapter. On the bright side, at least there'll be a second date and I promise not to string you guys along too much longer. A kiss shall come!

I feel like I kind of cheated you. But this chapter was growing really long; more soon, I promise! Next chapter: The technicians plot. My little techies get crazier by the day!


	8. Wherein Another David Presents Himself

A/T: Hey all! Thanks for all your love and input. Writing for you is a pleasure!

In the middle of this chapter, I'm forced to call David 'Hodges'. I like calling him David because it kind of makes it more personal, but you'll see why as it goes on. Don't ask me why, but I don't particularly like this chapter. But is any writer ever really satisfied with their work?

Grammar mistakes are all mine. Oh, and chapter 11 of _Out With It _shall be unveiled soon!

Disclaimer: Not yours, not mine. -sniffle-

Dedication: You guys totally know who you are! And Tenshi Nanashi, who loves Hodges just as much as I do!

Snapshots  
Act 8: Wherein Another David Presents Himself and Jacqui Lays Down The Law

"Nick? You know I support your sexual preferences and all, but we've gotta talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"I'm not dissing Hodges, but-"

"What does he have to do with anything?"

"I found this picture of you two in that file you guys had. And why are there white dots by your arm?"

"They're ghosts."

"Nick, it's lint on a camera lens."

"Try telling Lester Monroe that."

"Who's Lester Monroe?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm sure it is. Either way, this little thing you have with Hodges-''

"Thing? There's no 'thing'."

"Nick, you guys have a thing."

"No, we don't."

"Yes you do."

"No we don't."

"Don't make me stand here and argue with you about it."

"Warrick, I'll be sure to tell you when David and I have a 'thing'."

"You just called him David."

"It's his first name! Can't we call people by their first names without having to sleep with them?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that you guys have a thing."

"We _don't_ have a thing."

"Yes you do."

"No we don't."

"You took him on a date."

"How did you know about that?"

"Uh, seriously?"

"Of course I'm being serious."

"Well, Jacqui didn't want to fess up at first, but when I found this picture-''

"You found a picture of us and assumed we were dating?"

"I was curious. I'm a CSI."

"So you asked and she told you?"

"It took some serious prodding, man."

"And now you think we have a 'thing'?"

"The date's kinda supporting my theory. And you've been floating around a bit." Pause. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"I just don't want anyone to give David crap about dating a guy. Most people won't mess with us, but…"

"Technicians are different. I get you."

"Good."

"So… you and Hodges? It's a 'thing', right?"

"Maybe."

"Dude, you've been smiling like you've won the jackpot."

"No I haven't."

"Yes you have."

"I have not."

"Yes you have."

"No I haven't."

"Don't make me stand here and argue with you about it."

…

David Phillips never considered himself to be the brightest crayon in the box, but he was aware of one irrefutable truth: he most certainly did _not_ belong in the crime lab. No, the morgue was definitely more his style. There were less people to bother, less conversations to interrupt, and fewer hallways to get lost in. Frankly, he didn't _like_ the lab all that much because he didn't really fit in with any particular crowd. Dead people didn't judge him, and he appreciated that.

"You look like someone just shot your dog," said a voice, startling the coroner standing awkwardly in the hallway. 'Startling', of course, meant he jumped a few inches before spinning around and attempting to stammer out an excuse as to his being there. A complete stranger had spoken to him, which always equaled a cause for alarm and, inevitably, introversion.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, straightening his glasses and shooting a sweet looking man a nervous look. No one was supposed to talk to him except Gil Grissom and after that, he was supposed to head right back to the morgue. Why was this man engaging in what was destined to be a mundane conversation? What had had done to deserve this?

"I said you look a little uncomfortable here," the man reiterated. "Y'know, you don't have to hug the walls like that."

"Uncomfortable? Maybe a little," David admitted. "I guess I'm not used to being in the lab. I'm here to deliver the report on the deceased, but Grissom appears to be out."

"He won't be back for a long while. You might wanna pull you up a chair and find yourself a magazine. As a matter of fact, I hear there's traffic jam six miles from here that has the entire city tied up. I bet you a dollar he's stuck in the middle of it."

David didn't like the sound of that at all; he wanted to be able to catch Grissom before the older man was crushed beneath another pile of cases, but there was no reason to simply stand in the middle of the hallway to wait for him. The term "traffic jam" was dreaded among the citizens of Las Vegas and if Grissom really _was_ stuck in traffic, it would simply be a waste of time for David to hang around when he had work to do.

"So what are you doing, just waiting for Grissom?"

"Yes. Why? Am I in your way? Because I can move to his office or-''

Ronnie quickly shook his head. "I was asking if you want to eat lunch with us. I have meatball sandwiches." He lifted the tantalizing bag, allowing the scent of delicious tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese to waft towards David's nose. Such an action was really quite evil, because Ronnie was making it extra difficult for David to resist. David's stomach growled, reminding him he had skipped breakfast and the celery sticks he had eaten for dinner the morning before had long since dissipated, leaving him to run on fumes alone.

"I couldn't," he said, his stomach at odds with his common sense. He had never grabbed lunch with a complete stranger before, but his appetite was telling his common sense to go screw itself.

"Of course you could."

"I don't want to intrude."

"On what, our lunch? Good gracious, I eat with a crowd who _lives_ to intrude. I'm Ronnie Litre, but the way. Pleased to meet you."

David stared at the hand that was offered with uncertainty. Shaking hands was considered ideal social manners, wasn't it? Right. He could do that. "David Phillips. Nice to meet you too."

"Good. Now are you coming or what?"

"I'd really-''

Ronnie sighed. All of the Davids in his life seemed to be so anti-social; what was the deal with that? With a nod of his head, he slung his right arm around David's hunched figure, taking a lesson from Jacqui and not giving the coroner any choice but to follow him. David, jumping at the alien contact, had little chance to protest as Ronnie all but dragged him down the hallway, speaking like he would a best buddy. It had always been easy for Ronnie to make friends; he was a pleasant character with a good sense of humor. David Phillips, on the other hand, looked as if Ronnie were leading him towards the firing squads.

They quickly approached the break room, David catching sight of three others occupying the space. They were sitting around a lunch table, two speaking gaily and the third looking as if he had been condemned to some sort of torturous fate. David could certainly relate to that feeling; after all, it was one thing to meet someone new, but being shoved into a complete circle of strangers was just plain cruel.

As Ronnie pulled the glass door open, a dark haired woman spun around in her seat at the table. She was very pretty, but seemed to have a secure, don't-mess-with-me persona that had David wishing he had taken the job in New York instead. "Hey Ronnie!" she beckoned, motioning them to hurry up with her hand. "I'm dying to know about David's date. Get over here!"

It took all of 1.5 seconds for David to decide that he didn't want to be there.

"You know," David began, turning towards Ronnie and hoping he could avoid the frightening woman currently residing within the room. "I really don't have to eat. I've got tons of paperwork to do and-"

Ronnie merely waved his hand, dismissing the nervous excuse. "She's not that scary when you get to know her," he reassured, leading him onwards. Not that _scary_? Wasn't he being a bit kind his with use of words? The term 'terrifying' seemed so much more appropriate.

"Sorry I'm late," Ronnie apologized as he approached the group, sliding into a chair while the other three made room. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Just a snark war," Archie replied, giving his friend a grin over the can of Coke he was currently nursing.

"Oh? What's the score?"

"David's a couple points ahead, but Jacqui's got some zingers up her sleeve."

"In that case, please continue," he insisted, quickly ridding the plastic bags of its contents and, as promised, handing half of his submarine sandwich to the coroner, who graciously accepted it with a quiet 'thanks'. He was uncomfortable and didn't want to be there, but if he was going to suffer, then he was going to suffer with sated hunger.

"And who have we here?" Jacqui inquired, shooting their visitor an interested look. "Are you new?"

David shook his head, quickly wiping a bit of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth with Ronnie's offered napkin. "David Phillips, coroner," he introduced, politely holding out his hand. All five had been working at the lab for several years, but had never had any reason to meet before. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Great to meet you too," she replied, quickly shaking the offered hand with a firm grip. "I'm Jacqui Franco. This is Archie Johnson, David Hodges, and Ronnie, of course. We're technician extraordinaires."

Hodges acknowledged David's presence with a nod of his head while Archie sent him a friendly wave and said, "We have two Davids now? If you're anything like our first one, then we're in trouble."

"Two people named David," Hodges observed, dryly retorting to Archie comment. "What are the odds of that? Especially if you consider the other hundred _thousand_ men named David on Earth."

"You'll have to excuse him," Jacqui apologized, turning towards David with an amused smile. "He was born with an intolerance to good moods. Doctors everywhere are baffled by it."

Ronnie cleared his throat and arched a disapproving eyebrow towards the group before saying, "I found David trying to be invisible in the middle of the hallway. He was waiting for Grissom and I invited him to have lunch for us, but I was hoping that we could act like normal human beings for at least a few minutes."

"Waiting for Grissom with today's traffic? Buddy, you must have some patience," Archie observed, now munching on a bag of Doritos.

"And what do you mean _act_ like normal human beings?" Jacqui asked, obviously displeased with Ronnie's choice of words. "You mean we aren't normal?"

"Jacq, you have to wear pantyhose because you won't shave your legs."

She let out a horrified squeak, her eyes darting to the now seriously unnerved coroner before returning her gaze to Ronnie, who continued downing his sandwich as if nothing had happened. Archie fell silent, trying to appear as innocent as possible while Hodges, unable to control his amusement, burst into a short bout of laughter and high-fived a completely calm Ronnie from across the table.

Jacqui was still too appalled to speak.

"Have you seen Bobby?" Hodges asked, disregarding the woman's current state of complete and utter dismay.

"He was just comparing some bullets," the other man replied. David froze at this new information, his thoughts on two different planes. First, there was someone _else_ who belonged in this obviously insane group? He wasn't sure if he could take much more of this, especially when he considered that there was an additional technician who fit in with these people. Second, was Jacqui really okay? She appeared to be losing color to her cheeks and David would hate to have to see her on a metal table with a Y incision on her chest. "It should have taken him five minutes to match, two minutes to label, three minutes to put up his supplies and grab his lunch. By all accounts, he should be here right about-''

"Hey guys," Bobby breathlessly greeted, busting through the door and clutching a brown paper bag that most likely contained a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat bread with baked potato chips and an apple. "Sorry I'm late."

"Now," Ronnie finished, apparently pleased at his accurate timeline.

"I'm behind schedule, I know," Bobby apologized as he strode towards the soda machine, fishing for two quarters in his jean pocket. "Ecklie gave me some extra bullets to process right before break."

"Sure," Archie replied, plainly teasing. "You just wanted to spend as little time with us as possible."

"And miss all this quality time to trade insults and evil plots?" Bobby asked, mock disappointment coloring his voice as he found the appropriate change, put it into the machine, and pressed the Coke button with his thumb. "You must be mad. Now are you guys going to make room for me or what?"

Hodges, Archie, Ronnie, and David scrunched together to make room for one more. Bobby plopped between Jacqui and David before reaching over and stealing one of Archie's Doritos. David, still unable to relax, felt himself grow even more nervous at the new addition. The man next to him… well, David had noticed him before, but only by way of glances through a glass wall whenever Grissom was too flooded with work to make it to the morgue downstairs. This was, of course, very rare. What was his name again? Bobby? He sounded like a nice guy. It was too bad David knew he'd stutter his way into another humiliating display of intelligence.

Bobby glanced at an unusually quiet Jacqui before turning to the rest of the group. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, indicating the silent woman with a nod of his head.

"It was revealed to an unfortunate stranger that our resident fingerprint expert boycotts shaving cream and razors," Hodges replied, looking entertained at Jacqui's death glare.

"I suppose you're the unfortunate stranger, huh?" Bobby asked, turning towards David. The coroner shifted uneasily and nodded, choosing to look at the table instead of the bullet expert. He had to get out of here… and fast. But what excuse was believable enough to use?

"He's kind of shy," Archie explained, smiling sympathetically at David's silent form. "His name's David Phillips, coroner."

"You work with Robbins, right?" Bobby asked, his interest seemingly genuine. David forced his muscles to move as he glanced up to fleetingly meet Bobby's eyes.

"Yes. I don't usually need to come to the lab, but I was waiting for Grissom."

"With that jam downtown?"

"Apparently, the morgue isn't the traffic hotspot."

"You might have a point there. I don't suppose you're the same person some of the CSIs refer to as Super Dave, are you?"

"Regrettably."

"May I ask why that is?"

David couldn't help but laugh softly at the question; he had been asking himself the same thing quite a long time. "Ask one of them for me. I'm still not sure why and it's been at least three years."

Bobby shot him a friendly smile, as if amused by David in some way, before David looked back towards the others and prayed he wasn't blushing. With his luck, Bobby was probably smiling at some tomato sauce he possibly missed.

David was relieved when he realized that Jacqui had finally found her lost voice and (after delivering a wince-worthy kick to Ronnie's leg from underneath the table) decided to speak. "We're all here," she surmised, her dignity slightly restored. "And as you know, today's a special day for gossip mills everywhere. In other words, there's officially no reason Dave can't tell all."

"When were you going to tell us about it?" Archie asked, sending Hodges an accusing look. David Phillips glanced up. Which one were they talking about? Right; he was the one in the middle. He was good looking when he wasn't scowling; instead, he seemed to be rather nervous, hoping to escape the looming conversation. On top of it, he looked understandably embarrassed by Archie's query. "Never? This is the biggest thing to happen since-''

"Since you tried to ask Leslie out, right? The lady at the front desk?"

"Must we always go back to that?"

"Always," Jacqui confirmed, giving her friend a teasing smile. "However, David's date certainly tops it. We want places visited, foods eaten, events that followed once you arrived home-''

"Whoa, whoa," Ronnie interrupted, holding up his hand to silence her. "Places visited and food eaten is fine. Anything surpassing that is off limits."

"You guys are no fun," Jacqui muttered. "What if they made passionate love?"

"Then we don't want to know about it!" Bobby instantly replied. "Don't you have any shame? And besides, who in their right mind would want to tell _us_ whether or not they slept with someone?" There was a pause in his explanation before Bobby sent a curious look in David Hodges's horrified direction. "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"

The technician was stunned at the frank query. "No, I didn't! We didn't even… you know," he muttered, looking anywhere except at the intent crowd in front of him.

"Make out?" Archie supplied.

"Do we really have to talk about this?"

"Wait, are you saying you guys didn't even have a good night kiss?" Jacqui asked, her expression one of absolute shock. Hodges shook his head before sinking deeper into his chair, as if hoping the Earth might be sympathetic to his mortification and swallow him whole.

"Was it that bad?" Ronnie asked, seemingly understanding. "Because if it was a bad date, then I'm sure we can all agree that no one kisses on a bad first date."

"We just decided to take it slow."

"How slow?"

"Imagine the traffic jam downtown."

"That's pretty slow," Archie observed, looking wise over his now-empty bag of chips. "Let's timeline this, shall we? Say, for instance, one minute equals one month. If it takes forty-five minutes to get from downtown to this lab in the midst of a gridlock, then you'll finally jump each other's bones in about forty-five months. And FYI, you'll be about forty-two by then. Make sense?"

"Only to you, goober," Hodges muttered, unable to sink any lower into his chair. _Jump each other's bones? _Was vulgarity a worldwide epidemic, or was it only contagious in Las Vegas?

Jacqui, immune to Archie's nerdy mathematic skills, gazed at Hodges with a disappointed manner. "Then what, we have no juicy gossip?"

"Well, he likes Sprite."

"That's not gossip," Jacqui whined. "A date with Nick is-''

David Phillips never meant to choke and most certainly never meant to actually involve himself with the conversation. He was perfectly intent on listening to what was being said and mooch off an almost-complete-stranger's lunch instead, but the next question that tumbled out of his mouth was due to no fault of his own. He was, after all, in a condition of gossip-induced surprise.

"You're dating Nick? Nick _Stokes_?" he managed to ask once he had cleared his air pipes. Nick was a rumored ladies man; it was simply surprising that he would be seeing another guy. However, this little fact certainly didn't change the coroner's view of him. Nick was such a great person; he was funny, intelligent, and polite. He didn't deserve anyone's scrutiny when it came to his choices of partners.

"Why is everyone so incredibly floored by this?" Hodges muttered. "It's not like I don't date. I _do_ date. As a matter of fact, _he_ asked _me_ out."

"I know," David hurriedly replied, hoping not to offend the other man. "It's just… it's _Nick_."

"I know who he is."

"I know you know who he is," David quickly replied. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that… it's surprising. A good surprising."

"See?" Ronnie asked, turning towards Hodges. "David's a nice guy. We know that you know that he knows that you know who Nick is."

Even Archie, who had only moments ago timelined Nick and Hodges's relationship by using the traffic jam a few miles away, had to blink at Ronnie's comment before attempting to process the words.

"I'd ask you to repeat that, but I just don't want to know."

"Of course you do," Ronnie replied. "Go ahead and ask."

"No way. I'm a computer nerd, not a literary master."

"So you say. Anyway, I said that 'we know that you know that he knows who Nick is.' See, I was trying to state that the six of us knew that Hodges knew that David…"

Their voices faded out as Hodges's eyes traveled towards the coroner in question. He was no CSI, but he could deduce a clue when he saw one. He wasn't Cupid either, but he wasn't blind. Although, upon witnessing the sickening display in front of him, he almost wished he was.

Bobby and David were… well, Bobby was kind of staring at him, as if trying to deduce a puzzle that no one else was aware of. Then David would glance up and Bobby would look away, neither would look in each other's direction, David would chance a peek, Bobby would catch his eye, they'd both look away and… holy hell. It was the geek mating ritual. He vaguely remembered Sara and Grissom going through this.

Had only Hodges noticed this, he never would have told Jacqui. Sure, she would have hounded both the bullet technician and M.E. until they finally made their move, forcing them to admit their feelings and thus allowing them to be happy for the rest of their days, but David knew all too well what it was like to simply not _want_ to make a move. The problem was that Jacqui seemed to be catching wind of it as well. Her sharp, observant eyes were watching the show with an interest that, quite frankly, scared Hodges to bits. When she got that look of concentration, he knew what would predictably follow: one of her brilliant schemes that would inevitably end in his asking, _"How do you propose we get out of _this_ fine mess?"_

She turned her head and caught Hodges's gaze. She cocked an eyebrow and knew he had noticed Bobby and David Phillips's odd behavior while Archie and Ronnie babbled on, none the wiser. Oh, well. They would get in the loop eventually, because Jacqui wouldn't let this die. As a matter of fact, it was usually the five of them who schemed together.

This time, it was poor Bobby who was the victim.

…

David didn't like people in his lab. Period. He didn't care if it was Grissom, Ecklie, or the President himself; it was _his_ lab and as such, no one should be inside without his explicit permission. He was thus forced to bite his tongue when he caught sight of a man who looked suspiciously like Animal Control sitting on _his_ chair in front of _his_ computer in _his_ lab, scratching behind Nana's ears while simultaneously balancing a clipboard on his knee, filling out what looked to be a horrifying amount of paperwork. Where had David been when this injustice occurred? Take ten minutes for lunch and suddenly people are making themselves at home in your lab. Whatever happened to decency?

David didn't like this.

He didn't like it at all.

"Can I help you?" The accusing tone in his voice was intentional. He wasn't sure who this guy thought he was, but he had put a collar around Nana's neck and David had the sinking suspicion that this guy was planning to cart her off to some shoddily run government facility.

The man glanced up and gave David an easy smile despite the technician's stern expression. He was your Average Joe; about five foot nine with graying temples and a bit of a potbelly, donning a scraggly mustache and sideburns on his face. His nametag read Joel Sullivan and he was most _definitely_ from Animal Control.

"I doubt it, sir. I'm just picking up the goat."

"Nana?"

"Whatever her name is, I was called to take her back with me. I bet it's been difficult with her in your lab, so I'll be out of here as quickly as I can."

David slowly approached, like a wary predator sniffing out its potentially dangerous prey. He had to be eloquent about this, if such a thing was possible.

"And where the hell do you intend on taking her?"

So much for the eloquence.

"Just the local shelter. Can't say she's gonna blend in with all those dogs, though."

He laughed, foolishly expecting David to join in. He immediately sobered up when he found himself on the wrong side of David's patented glare.

"Think anyone will buy her?"

"I can't say there's a big chance. Not a lot of people want a goat in the middle of Vegas."

David didn't like the sound of that, either. "So what happens if no one takes her home?"

"Same thing that happens to all the animals, I'm afraid."

It was official. Joel Sullivan couldn't be allowed to leave the building.

"What, you're going to put her to sleep?"

"Most likely."

And it wasn't like David had gotten attached to her or anything, especially the way she looked at him with big eyes or walked around within the lab, exploring corners, but death seemed so… extreme. The thought of her demise was rather unsettling and made him uncomfortably depressed. But what was he supposed to do? Poison good ol' Joel with some cyanide and steal Nana away? It was both illegal and impractical, the impracticality bothering him more then the issues of law.

There _was_ something he could do, of course, but it was equally as unreasonable. Then again, Greg's unreasonableness and stupidity had long since rubbed off on him, infecting him with his twisted logic and lack of common sense.

Maybe he could get away with that excuse.

"How much would she be?"

Joel looked up from his third page of forms and blinked, slowly absorbing the question. "Beg your pardon?"

"What, did I stutter? I asked you how much it would cost to buy her."

"Well, I'd have to see, but I doubt it'd hurt your wallet."

"Fine. Who do I make out the check to?"

"I'm sorry?"

David rolled his eyes. This guy either needed a hearing aid or a lesson in how to answer questions with an actual _answer_.

"Where do I sign? How much do I pay? I want to buy her."

"You want to buy her?"

David had a feeling this conversation was going to take a very long time.

"Yes, I want to buy her. What's it going to take?"

"Well, a check, I suppose. And some legal forms, but that shouldn't take long," Joel replied, rising from his seat and casting the technician a bewildered glance. "I can stop by the office and get the paperwork. You mind if she stays here 'til I get back?"

"Of course not."

"You sure?"

"No, I lied the first time."

Joel opened his mouth to reply with a possible response of "Uh… are you sure?" before David crossed his arms and shot him an impatient look. If Joel didn't hit the road, David wasn't going to be held liable for his actions. Joel, obviously understanding David's sentiments, quickly tipped is hat, grabbed his clipboard, and turned towards the lab's doorway, scurrying down the hall and heading for the blessed exit. Despite his body type, the man could make tracks if he so desired and if the way he nearly tripped over Nick was any indication, he clearly wanted out of there.

David watched as Nick directed a confused look at the poor man before turning to look at David through the wall, arching an eyebrow that portrayed his suspicion with an unmistakable accuracy. The Texan knew David had something to do with Joel's swift exit and being the CSI that he was, he wanted to know why.

David tried to appear as calm as possible when Nick opened the trace lab door. Considering he was harboring a goat and that his gut was suddenly becoming a nervous wreck, he was pulling off the calm thing surprisingly well.

"That Animal Control guy was sure in a hurry," Nick observed, his voice laced with amusement and knowing.

"Hm. He was busy and had to make his rounds," David replied, his lie completely see-through but his voice betraying nothing.

"Probably," agreed the other man, evidently willing to play the game if that meant he could get answers. "But it seems mighty strange that he'd forget to take the goat he was assigned to pick up."

Damn him! How was David supposed to reply to that one? _He forgot her. _Not even his toddler niece would believe that, and she believed _everything_.

The technician was silent as Nick leaned against the evidence counter with his hip and had a smug look on him, aware that he had won and enjoying every second of his victory. The possibility of creating an intricate, detailed lie regarding the entire situation was feasible, but it would have to be incredibly complex and he was just too damn flustered for that. Why did Nick have to stand so close to him?

"Fine," he conceded, not wanting to back away but finding it necessary for the sake of his sanity. "You win. I bought her."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "You bought Nana? And let me warn you, man," he continued, taking up residence in _David's_ chair in front of _David's_ computer in _David's_ lab… and somehow, it didn't irk David like it usually did. "It'll mean that somewhere inside of you lies a heart that gives a damn."

"Gives a damn?" David asked, as if scandalized. "Excuse me, but I do _not_ give a damn. I just don't want her-''

"Dead?"

"Permanently incapacitated. Now, of course, I have to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with her."

"Not wanting her dead constitutes as giving a damn," Nick replied, looking all too amused at the situation. "You realized what just happened, don't you?"

David groaned. "Good God, don't go there. It's not like-''

"You got attached to her," Nick chanted, grinning like that cat that caught the canary. "See? I told you."

"Told me? Okay, sure. I'll let you think whatever your little delusional mind tells you, but I'd prefer if you wouldn't tell anyone else."

"Tell people what?" Nick asked, a teasing smile on his face. He rose from his seat and took a few steps back, inching dangerously towards the door. David sent him a steady look, as if warning him not to dare open his mouth lest he meet his Maker early.

"Nick Stokes, I swear I'll-''

"Because I would _never_ tell people that…" Nick trailed off before leaning out of the threshold of the lab, bellowing down the hallway to anyone within earshot, "David Hodges bought Nana!"

Although he was sure that his next action wasn't going to help his defense any, David quickly scrambled over to the Texan, wrapped his arms around his neck, and clamped his hand over Nick's mouth. Perhaps his mode to achieve the silence he so desperately wanted was a bit obvious (especially amidst the glass walls), but he ignored this in favor of questioning the man who was now at his mercy. "What are you doing?" David asked, wholly aghast. "I'm trying to keep this as quiet and possible and you tell half of the lab?"

He was tempted to simply stay like that and deny Nick both air and the chance to explain himself when a tall brunette by the name of Sara Sidle walked in, casting a curious look towards each man. David was sure the scene appeared rather strange; after all, he was practically suffocating Nick whilst forbidding him from speaking. And their position was odd as well: David's chest was against Nick's back while his left arm wrapped around the Texan's neck and his right hand was glued over his lips.

"Should I ask?" Sara asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, you shouldn't. As a matter of fact, turn around so you won't have to watch me finish this guy off."

Instead of obeying David's request, Sara parked herself in Nick's previous seat. She looked amused and her smile was more than just a little suggestive.

"So what did you do, Hodges? I thought I heard Nick shout something about a certain goat."

Nick managed a few muffled words, but David tightened his grasp around the Texan, successfully quieting him.

"I don't know what he said, but it was a flat-out lie. Whatever he says after this regarding any goat is also a lie. Don't believe a word of it."

"Y'know, I've never known Nick to lie," Sara mused, obviously entertained by the spectacle before her. "Looks to me like you're covering something up."

"Then go investigate it, CSI lady."

"It's hard to investigate when my main witness is being denied one of the main components of life."

"Oxygen's overrated."

"And this may be a bit off topic, but you guys look really cute together."

David froze and, in the span of his short bout of shock, Nick managed to break away from the vice grip that had been holding him in place. He took in a few gulps of air before he and Sara shot each other triumphant grins; David immediately knew her "cute" comment had been used to free Nick from his captor. It was so incredibly transparent. Why had he fallen for it?

"So Nicky," she languidly began, ignoring David's glare of absolute hatred. "What's this I hear about a goat?"

"Dave bought Nana. Heard she was going to get the needle."

Sara's eyebrows rose and she turned to the technician, truly surprised. "That's so…"

"If you say 'decent', I'm putting all of your evidence on the bottom of the pile."

"I was going to say 'sweet'."

"That's it. You should have your fiber results around this time next year."

Sara, obviously not taking his threat seriously, quickly turned and peered out of the glass wall behind her. She squinted, clearly looking for someone. A bright, gap-toothed grin plastered over her face as Greg rounded the corner and David knew he was officially done for. As Greg began to pass his lab, Sara hastily rapped on the wall, successfully gaining the attention of the blonde. " Come get a load of this!" she mouthed, Greg arching an eyebrow before turning to join the little party.

"What's the big news?" the CSI asked, wandering into the lab before shooting David a quirky grin, as if suddenly privy to the fact that David was the center of the gossip mill that evening.

"Hodges bought Nana."

"The goat?"

"Good God, Sanders," David snapped, glaring at the other man. "It's not as if I bought a _human_ named Nana." Why did this have to be such a headline? Why couldn't he just sign some papers and go on with his life? Why was he being tormented this way?

"And Dave just volunteered this information?"

"I got it from Nick," Sara replied, looking self-satisfied. David suddenly wished Bobby were there, preferably with a gun.

"Are you telling me Dave allowed _Nick_ to volunteer this information?"

"Actually, I had to free Nick from his iron hold. Hodges wouldn't let him talk."

"No talking? Sounds kinky."

"Sanders, if I had a heavy blunt object right now, you'd better believe you'd be the target."

"Y'know Dave, that sounds like a threat, and I don't take too kindly to threats." Beat, grin, laugh. "Don't make me tell the world about your new pet."

"Don't make me incapacitate your permanently."

"It's going to be hard to incapacitate me when I knock you unconscious."

"It's going to be hard to knock me unconscious if you're dead."

Greg moved to reply, but paused a moment before exhaling, forfeiting the snark war for the day. He so rarely won anyway and David's last zinger had left him with little to work with. After all, how could he beat the trace tech if he were theoretically dead?

In the corner, Nana rose from her place on the floor and walked over to David to affectionately nudge his knee. The CSI trio grinned at him from their places in his lab; he was tempted to ignore the animal and keep his pride, but she nudged him again and he heaved a suffering sigh before bending to scratch her behind the ears.

…

Jacqui Franco was an intelligent woman who just happened to work the graveyard shift and, as a result, didn't have much time to meet men. The only one in their group who was hitched was Ronnie, who loved his wife and who Jacqui considered to be a very lucky man. But Ronnie had been married for quite a while and his chances of getting hurt were slim to none. The thought of _David_ dating, however, was unsettling. He had been damaged too many times for Ronnie, Archie, Bobby, or herself to trust just anyone that happened to walk into his life, even if it was the handsome, All American CSI with a killer smile and…

Jacqui grimaced. David was a damn lucky man, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that no matter how moralistic/humanistic/really good-looking Nick Stokes happened to be, he had the capability to hurt David just like anyone else, and Jacqui didn't want that to happen. As a matter of fact, she _refused_ to let that happen and the rest of her group (sans David) agreed with a vigor she had never seen before.

She wasn't sure how long she had been planning the discussion she was going to have with Nick, but she was pretty sure that it was hitting the two-hour mark when Nick strode into her lab, shooting her a friendly smile. That particular smile often disarmed even the toughest of characters, but she didn't allow it to faze her. A wolf in sheep's clothing was still a wolf and there was nothing anyone could do to change the fact.

"Hey ya, Jacqui. Got those prints yet?"

Why, yes she did. And wasn't it convenient that she could choose to hold them hostage for as long as she pleased?

"You bet, Nick."

She held a folder out to Nick, tantalizing him with the creamy color and promising printouts that were encased within. He reached out to take it and-

"So I heard you and David had a nice time Saturday night," Jacqui casually began, having taken the folder back and beginning to casually thumb through it. Nick blinked. He had been an entire two inches from taking the file and she had suddenly retracted it, leaning against the counter as if she had all the time in the world.

"We did," he answered, somewhat wary and rather perplexed at her uncharacteristic actions as he withdrew his hand. "Went to dinner and then to his place."

Too-relaxed-to-be-real. "Sounds like fun."

A strained reply. "It was."

There was another long moment before Jacqui speedily turned to face the Texan. She had never been one to feign affection or politeness, nor had she ever been inclined to pollute a conversation with small talk. If she wanted answers, then she was going to ask for them without a mess of nonessential words as a prelude. "Let's cut the crap, shall we?"

"Let's," Nick replied, leaning against the counter opposite from her and crossing his arms. He and Jacqui usually got along well and it felt strange that there would be anything tense between them. "I can tell you want to say something."

"David is one of my best friends. He's a complicated, irritating, genius, spirited man, and if you cause him anything less than absolute bliss, you better believe I'll be on you like white on rice. Got it?"

Nick met Jacqui's determined gaze and nodded. "I don't have any intention of hurting him."

"Nick, all that matters is what you actually _do_. I'm sure your intentions are pure and all, but hurting him will inevitably result in Bobby putting you in a chokehold while Ronnie tapes you to a chair."

Nick took a breath. "Understood."

"Good."

"Is that all?"

Jacqui cleared her throat. "We may not be the most popular group in this lab. Well, it's not like we're_ unpopular_, we're just…"

"The freak show?"

"I was going to say intellectual group."

"Sorry."

"My point was that maybe you could grab lunch with us sometime. We really want to know the guy who's finally dating David. Besides, you have to pass the test anyway."

"There's a test?"

Jacqui gave Nick a stern look and the Texan knew that there were, without a doubt, no mistakes allowed. "Nick Stokes, you better believe there's a test. And from this moment forward, Dave's off limits until you ace it."

Today was Monday. And as both David and Garfield would say, Monday's were bad things.

Somehow, they had just gotten worse.

_Here we are  
__face to face  
__same energy.  
__You and me  
__don't wanna be  
__enemies._

_Mr. James Dean_, Hilary Duff

TBC.

More to come very soon! Tell me what you like/didn't like/want to see! (I know I want some hot and heavy lip-locking. Darn my timelining!)


	9. Wherein Nick’s Test Is Officially Taken

A/T: On a non-fic note, I've noticed a few people "blaming" me for infecting them with the Nick/David bug. For this, I have two words: _thank you! _Anything I can do to infect anyone with any sort of David bug is a wonderful, flattering thing to say. I'm being serious. Blame me all you want… just so long as you write fic for a cure. :D

Disclaimer: Santa promised me anything. Except the rights to _CSI_. Le sigh!

Snapshots  
Act 9: Wherein Nick's Test Is Officially Taken and A Shirt Must Be Borrowed

Nick had never been ambushed before.

Well… okay, so he had. On more than one occasion, actually, not that he liked to dwell on it. There had been the numerous guns, the way Nigel Crane had snuck up on him and, of course, his burial.

It seems as if this metaphor isn't working.

To rephrase, he had never been ambushed by a bunch of _technicians_ before. See? That makes the situation much clearer.

Either way, it was proving to be quite the experience. He had been unsuspecting as he strolled down the hallway, his nose stuck in a file and heading towards David's lab, hoping to weasel some trace results while simultaneously try and craftily ask whether he liked Thai food. That had been his plan, anyway, before he caught sight of Archie on one side of the hall and Bobby on the other. In their defense, it was break time and they had every right to be there, but it was so… odd. Who hung out in foyers anyway?

He was about to say hello when Bobby caught sight of him first, sending the Texan a friendly smile.

"Hey ya, Nick," he greeted, casually taking hold of the Texan's right arm while Archie took hold of his left. He glanced at his sudden captors, immediately confused by their odd behavior. What was going on, and how had he gotten himself involved? He had spent enough time with David to know that the technicians had their own way of doing things, but he had a case to solve and not a lot of time to spare.

"What's up, Nicky?" Archie asked, as if they weren't forcibly steering him away from the trace lab and towards the break room.

"A coffee break, I suppose," Nick warily replied. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"Well, to be quite honest," Archie began, "This is the part where we'll try to convince you that nothing's going on. But Bobby and I've decided that we want you to survive this, so we'll help you through it. Feel like taking a breather?"

"I think the question is whether I have a choice in the matter," Nick retorted, distrustful when it came to Bobby and Archie's childlike expressions. Exactly whom did they think they were fooling, especially when they were practically bleeding innocence and rainbows?

"Don't be like that, Nicky," Bobby replied. It felt a bit unreal to Nick, but he knew their seemingly pointless conversation had to be going somewhere. "You might as well get it over with."

"Get _what _over with?" Nick asked, the beginnings of frustration tingeing his voice. He liked the technicians; they were a fun, quirky bunch with whom he felt at home, but this was driving him crazy.

"Jacqui told you about the test, right?" Archie asked, furrowing his brow in concern. Nick tried to clear his mind; he remembered last night and Jacqui's warning about some sort of assessment, but was this what she really had in mind?

"Yeah, I think so," Nick replied. "But I was going to Davi-''

"Getting just a little too ahead of yourself," Bobby observed. They stopped a few feet in front of the break room and glanced inside, watching as Jacqui and Ronnie hunched over a white sheet of paper. Archie appeared nervous and Bobby didn't seem that calm either.

"Okay, we've never done this before," Archie whispered in a conspirator-like manner, Nick straining to hear the murmured words. "But we can tell David really likes you, so we want you to pass this with flying colors."

Bobby quickly nodded in agreement as he retracted a Crunch Bar from his shirt pocket. "Bribe her with this if she gets too tough," he ordered, quickly giving Nick the chocolate. "There's no guaranteeing it'll work, but you can hope. Don't be cocky, because she hates know-it-alls. And for the love of God, be earnest. If she thinks you're lying, you're toast."

"Unless, of course, you _are_ lying," Archie added. "Then you're public enemy number one with all of us. We clear?"

"Sure," Nick replied, trying to wrap his head around the surrealistic world he was suddenly in.

"Cool. Ready to go in? Oh, and this conversation never happened," Archie warned as they opened the door. Jacqui looked up at the intrusion as Archie shot her a big smile, successfully hiding the fact that they were helping their foe.

"Guess who we found?" he asked, all but dragging Nick towards her table.

"Did he come willingly?" she asked, clearly entertained by Nick's bemused expression. Bobby cleared his throat; Nick hadn't exactly fought them, but he hadn't been complacent either. Oh well. What were a few glossed-over details between friends?

"He sure did," Bobby replied, smearing on a large grin. "Arch and I didn't hear a peep from him. We ready to roll?"

"Yep," Ronnie replied. "Jacq's got the questions if Nick's got the time."

"And seeing as he's already here, we might as well get it over with," she continued, shooting Nick a curt smile. "All you need to know is that David hasn't had much luck in the romance department, so we just want to make sure you're the proper candidate for the job. We like to think of this as a sort of guarantee, you know?"

Nick merely nodded, pretending to comprehend the conversation when, in reality, he had no idea what guarantee Jacqui was referring to. As he took a seat next to Ronnie, he was suddenly thankful for the candy in his pocket; he had a feeling it was going to be needed.

"Excellent. Question one," Jacqui began, standing before Nick with a regal air while reading off of a list she held with a protective hold. "Have you ever been married?"

Nick blinked as those around him absorbed the question. Archie wrinkled his nose as he took a swig of his Mountain Dew, the slow Tuesday "afternoon" presenting the perfect opportunity to quiz David's future boyfriend. Nick struggled to find words, but his current situation was so incredibly crazy that he was still trying to wrap his head around it. He glanced at the seemingly innocent piece of paper Jacqui was holding and suddenly wished someone were there with him. Like, for instance, Brass. With a gun.

"Jacq, I'm pretty sure someone off the street can tell you Nick has never been married," Ronnie replied, lifting his eyebrows.

"Good point. Ignore that one. Question two: If you were once married, why did you div- okay, skip that one too. Question three: have you ever been physically violent with a significant other?"

Nick looked aghast. He wanted to make them happy for the sake of David, but this was a bit extreme. "Of course not," he replied. The only time he'd ever been violent was with a suspect or when his sisters tried to wrestle the remote control from him when he was a kid.

"Yeah, we sort of figured that," Ronnie murmured. Jacqui shot him an evil look and Nick suddenly understood what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the table in an interrogation room.

"Question four: do you have a criminal record?"

Quite frankly, a rough thirty seconds had passed and the test was gong badly… but not for Nick. The questions they would usually ask didn't seem to apply to the Texan; most everyone knew the answers to them anyway and it was pretty pointless to even bother inquiring. Bobby sighed and voiced the silent query that was on everyone's mind: "Who made this list?"

"It's the one we always use," Jacqui defended. "Remember that guy who tried to pick you up at the bar?"

"Of course I do," Bobby replied, attempting to hide a bitter tone. "There's a reason he never called me, you know. I can't say that I blame him."

"We all decided to go for a drink, right? He tried to hit on you. We had every intention of letting you go so long as he passed the test."

"You gave him this test in the middle of a _bar_, Jacq. And anyway, I want David to be happy just as much as you do, but we might have to make an exception for Nick. I mean, look at this," Bobby reasoned, grabbing the list from Jacqui's protesting grasp. He held it up and began reading a few questions at random. "Does he have a drug habit? Has he ever served time? This isn't quite the list Nick needs."

Jacqui looked as if she wanted to argue, but there was no point in disputing an invalid point. "Maybe you're right," she admitted, flopping into her chair in defeat. "But he still needs a test. We can't let David start dating cold turkey."

"Agreed," Bobby replied. "We just need to think of something else. For instance…" He trailed off before turning to Nick. The Texan steeled himself for a probing investigation; he was waiting for their relentless words and endless attempts to see whether he fit their standard. So he was surprised (and slightly disconcerted) when the bullet professional asked, "Dixie or blue grass?"

Nick blinked, as if trying to wake from a horrible nightmare. It had suddenly gone from abuse and jail time to what sort of music he preferred. In an effort to completely understand the question, all he could really stutter was a, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, Dixie or blue grass? Which do you like better?" the technician asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He had no idea what the hell this had to do with dating, but he quickly answered. "Dixie."

Bobby hurriedly wrote this down as Jacqui asked, "Paper or plastic?"

"Plastic."

Their attention shifted to Archie, who was next in line to quiz the poor CSI. He leaned back with his chair, silently mulling his possible questions over as he met Bobby's eyes. They had to give Nick something easy to answer so that he could pass, but it was still a difficult thing to decide. Archie took a breath and hoped that Nick had paid attention to his many _Star Trek_ ramblings.

"Captain Kirk or Deanna Troi?"

Nick shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was suddenly faced with. Those two names sounded familiar; the A/V tech seemed to like some guy named Kirk and Nick had been certain that Archie had muttered some harsh words about a chick named Deanna Troi on more than one occasion. He took a breath, said a prayer, and ventured a guess. "Captain Kirk."

At Archie's wide smile, Nick allowed himself a relieved sigh. Was this ridiculous? Yes. Important? Definitely.

The three technicians looked expectedly at Ronnie, who was tapping his fingers against the top of the table. Nick had to wonder if the older man was privy to Archie and Bobby's plot to keep David and Nick together; Ronnie hadn't made any indication that he was, but he hadn't been particularly harsh either. After a moment, Ronnie arched an eyebrow and leaned in.

"Saturday Night Fever or Pulp Fiction?"

Nick felt himself grow impatient. It was one thing to want to protect your friend, but it was quite another to try and scare or bully of someone who was interested in making said friend happy. Movie titles had absolutely _nothing_ to do with… Nick's mind whirred to a stop, his irritation fading. He glanced towards Jacqui and tried to hide his smile, because he suddenly realized what Ronnie's question had been about.

"Saturday Night Fever," Nick replied, pleased that Ronnie seemed to understand his predicament. Although the older man didn't make it obvious, he gave Nick a barely discernable nod, indicating that he'd gotten it correct.

Bobby jot down his response before handing it to Jacqui, who scanned it with quick, dark eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, to continue their interrogation, when the sound of a swinging door interrupted her plan.

David strolled right in. Although Nick was always happy to see the technician, his enthusiasm reached a whole new level. After all, who else had the power to get Nick out of his current position? The other four froze as David's sharp eyes observed the scene before he shot his friends a suspicious look. To an innocent bystander, it appeared that a few technicians and a CSI were having a friendly break, but David new better. He had seen this happen far too many times not to know the signs; a certain piece of the paper, the way the four of them crowded around their victim, and the dismayed look in Nick's eyes gave them away.

"What are you up to?" he asked, slowly approaching them. "You look guilty and Nick looks nervous. Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"We aren't doing anything," Jacqui lied as Bobby quickly hid the examination behind his back. "Just talking, trying to get to know Nick a little better. He's a fascinating guy, you know."

David might have believed them if Bobby hadn't hid that telltale paper behind his back with the stealth of an elephant in a china store. David arched an eyebrow and pointed an accusing finger in their general direction, honestly unable to believe it. What was wrong with these people? Sure, he was a little afraid at getting hurt, but scaring off his potential love interest wasn't the best way to guarantee success.

"You're giving him the test, aren't you?" he asked, his tone reproachful.

"No!" Archie quickly replied, shaking his head in denial. This didn't stop David from stalking over to their table.

"You're actually giving him that test! Don't you have _any_ shame?"

"No."

Well, at least they were honest about it.

"Do you remember what happened when you tried to quiz that guy in the bar? He never called Bobby."

"That was totally different," Archie interrupted. "We weren't about to let Bobby pick up some random stranger. He could have been a murderer or something equally heinous."

"Did I pick _Nick_ up at a bar?" David asked, crossing his arms, waiting for their begrudged answer.

Ronnie sighed. They had been caught; there was no doubt about it. "No," he admitted.

"How long have I known Nick?"

"Three years," Bobby acknowledged, looking somewhat ashamed.

"What are the chances of him murdering me?"

"You can never really know a person," Jacqui defended. "He could go haywire and shoot you right between the eyes."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. Now, are you satisfied?"

"Well, he chose Dixie, plastic, Captain Kirk, and Saturday Night Fever."

David blinked, the answers sounding foreign. Not that he was proud to admit it, but he had given that test almost as much as they had; the questions were practically memorized and he certainly didn't remember music and _Star Trek_ being part of it.

"We know," Jacqui replied, as if reading his mind. "We had to make another test. It felt ridiculous asking a CSI if he ever served time or had a criminal record."

"But I have good news," Ronnie continued. Archie grinned.

"You just saved a bunch of money by switching your car insurance to Geiko?"

"You watch way too much TV, kid. And lucky for you, Dave, Nick chose all the right answers."

"Forgive my stupidity," David began, crossing his arms and looking displeased at the circumstances. "But what does Dixie music and Captain Kirk have to do with dating?"

"Plastic is more environmentally efficient than paper," Jacqui explained. "That means your studmuffin is conscious about our planet."

David opened his mouth to protest such a outrageous name, but Archie's voice interrupted him. "Not that I'm one to bash any Star Trek character, but Deanna Troi doesn't do much for me. She was put there for sex appeal," the young man explained. "Captain Kirk? _Much_ more useful. That means Nicky has a good judge in character."

"Saturday Night Fever happens to be one of your favorite movies," Ronnie elucidated. "It's always good if your significant other remembers what you tell them."

"And I just like Dixie music," Bobby admitted, grinning at Archie's laughter. There hadn't been any secret reasoning behind his specific query; he simply didn't have anything else to work with, so he chose a musical topic and ran with it. "He's got good musical taste, which is important. We're proud to inform you that Nicky passed the test."

"Goodie," David replied, snatching the answer sheet from Bobby's hand. "Lord knows that test would have seriously determined whether I date him or not."

"It certainly would," Jacqui cheerfully chimed in. "If we don't like him, we'd make it mighty difficult for you to see him."

"Especially if he was stored in my attic or something," Archie innocently added. "Of course, that's just in theory."

"Absolutely," Ronnie quickly replied. "And besides, he'd be perfectly safe. We'd feed him and everything."

"Once again, this is all speculation."

David had to laugh at that; they were so blatantly obvious that he couldn't help but appreciate their efforts. They were trying so hard to protect him and it felt… well, it felt kind of nice.

…

"Dave, I need those results. It's a murder charge."

"A _murder_ charge?" David asked, his tone clearly one of sarcasm. "Here? In the _crime_ lab? I'll get right on that. Let me put away all of this jaywalking and littering trace and I'll have those results in no time."

Three and a half hours later, the welcome lull had arrived. Well, "welcome" might be too strong of a term. It was actually more of a "dreaded" lull, because the lull wasn't actually a lull; it was merely a chance for bad things to happen. It had been quiet –too quiet- and David had been wary. Sure, the CSIs were out on the restaurant scene with the exception of Nick and Greg; they were still in the lab, bent over a table and examining photos, trying to piece things together as best they could.

Well, Greg _had_ been at the table.

Now he was in David's lab, annoying the hell out of him.

Somehow, David wasn't surprised.

Greg sighed and held up his hands in defeat. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized. "I remember how it was with CSIs snapping at your heels."

"Then take a number. Your samples are next in the pile."

"Can I lend a hand?"

"_No_."

"Oh, c'mon. I'm bored and want to help."

David rolled his eyes. What was it going to take to get the guy off his back? He briefly considered allowing Greg to run some samples, but immediately knew the younger man would destroy his carefully cataloged system. There was a way he did things in his lab and he didn't want someone turning it into a circus. Greg was clearly brimming over with energy and needed an activity to keep him occupied, but there wasn't much he had to offer. He turned towards the blonde and opened his mouth to suggest something (possibly along the lines of finding a cliff to jump off of) when his eyes landed on the large cabinet behind the CSI. David had been meaning to clean it out for weeks, but had kept getting sidetracked with a little something he liked to call a career.

"Exactly how bored are you?"

"I'm dying here, Dave."

"Then the cabinet behind you needs some reorganizing."

Greg's eyes actually lit up with the prospect of having an objective in which to wreak havoc upon. He twirled around and saw the cupboard before quickly nodding, instantly accepting the job.

"Consider it done. Any requests?"

"Anything with a red label needs to be disposed of _properly_. That means no ingestion of anything in that cabinet."

"I was a technician before, you know. I remember how to get rid of chemicals."

"On second thought," David mused, making a show of being in deep deliberation. "I believe there's some cyanide in the back. Give it a try and tell me what you think."

"Hardy har har. You're a regular comedian."

"Don't fault me for something that comes so easily."

Greg sent him a playful glare but opened the door to the cabinet, crouching onto his knees to get a better look at the numerous containers. They began in silence, which was only about fifteen seconds. David figured it was some sort of record for Greg and tried not to snap his head off when the young man began using up precious oxygen.

"So how's Nana?" Greg inquired, wrinkling his nose at a particularly nasty looking bottle.

"She's in my apartment," David answered. "I'm trying to find a buyer."

"A buyer, huh? Have you tried the zoo?"

"Of course I've tried the zoo," David retorted when, in fact, he was expecting God's lightening bolt to strike him down at any moment. He hadn't tried the zoo. He rolled his eyes at himself; what had he been thinking? Between the schedule and his partially insane friends, he had simply stuck an ad that went something along the lines of _Hey Las Vegas! I have a goat! She's for sale! Start looking for your wallets._ The zoo was so blatantly obvious that even _Greg_ had suggested it.

"Whoa. What's this stuff?"

David's thoughts were interrupted as he turned to see Greg wrinkling his nose at an unmarked container. He stood up from his stooped position as he attempted to pry the cap off, walking towards David as he did so. David sighed; no matter what duty he gave Greg, the younger man would always return, ready to put his irritation skills to good use. However, he wasn't only irritating, he was clumsy. Greg gripped onto the top with an even harder grip, the cap not budging from its position. He grunted with the effort and David had to wonder: when _had_ he cleaned out the cabinet last? How old was some of that stuff? From what decade had it come from? And how intelligent had it become since then?

"Looks like that jar's getting the best of you, Sanders."

Greg looked up to reply when the cap suddenly flew off, the gravity throwing Greg slightly off balance, forcing the contents of the container to slosh out and soak the front of David's clothes and skin. Greg stumbled backwards; his eyes widened to the size of saucers and he took a few steps back, genuinely alarmed at what David might do in retaliation. First of all, the plastic jar had been unmarked and chemical-skin contact was a constant hazard.

Second of all, David's shirt was ruined. And David really liked that shirt.

Greg winced.

He didn't want to die.

"I was –um- only trying to help," he squeaked. David took slow, calming breaths, trying to ignore the chemical odor. Okay, he could deal with this. His first step was to try and refrain from killing Greg; after all, homicide investigations were annoying and they messed up his social life. His second step was to identify the chemical, which he immediately knew to be silver nitrate. His third step was to wash himself off, because the damn stuff stained.

"I'm really, really sorry," Greg began; David tried not to react with his natural desire to hit certain young men with blonde hair… he wondered if Grissom would understand that David had no choice but to assault Greg. Maybe they'd even drop the charges.

David was in no mood to be observant, so he didn't notice Catherine walking through the halls and towards his lab. He didn't see her open the door and he barely even registered her partial question of: "Hodges, do you have that…" He did, however, hear her trail off, wrinkling her dainty nose as she caught a whiff the mysterious and offending odor now haunting his trace lab. "What's that smell?" she asked, waving her hand in front of her nose, as if perhaps the fruitless action would help matters.

David slowly turned towards the CSI, his glare unkind. "Ask Sanders, the Wonder Klutz."

"Hodges, you smell _horrible_."

"Thank you _so_ much for that astute observation, CSI Lady. If it weren't for you, I never would have noticed the stench at all."

Catherine arched a delicate eyebrow and crossed her arms. David considered apologizing to his superior, but he had also considered killing Greg as well. He didn't want to do something he'd regret, so the apology was definitely out of the question. "Then why don't you go change?" she asked and he had to fight from rolling his eyes. If things were that simple, did she honestly think he'd still be standing there?

"I'm sorry, but must have left my _other_ wardrobe at home." For CSIs, these people weren't particularly smart. What was their deal?

"I'm just saying that maybe you should-''

"Yeah, I got it," David snapped. "Just make sure Sanders doesn't touch anything. I'd hate to see this place blown to smithereens for a second time."

It was a low blow, but he was pissed and was in no mood to be refined with his words. He stalked out of his lab and towards the showers, trying to ignore the looks of those around him. He reeked of chemicals; he _understood_ that. Why couldn't they just move on without making this harder than it had to be? He quickly passed Archie and Bobby's lab; Archie was engrossed in a surveillance video while Bobby was probably matching striations of bullets, his eye glued to a microscope.

Jacqui, however, wasn't so easy to sneak by.

She glanced up from the running AFIS program and caught sight of her trodden friend. He could see her dark eyebrows meet her hairline in surprise as he quickly passed by, hoping to escape her inevitable inquiry. She knew all of his hiding places and would find him eventually; he really needed a new nook to conceal himself. The storage closets just weren't cutting it anymore.

His pace quickened as he heard the print lab door squeak open. Maybe he could lose her in the hallway, although the hope was low; there weren't many people segregating through the corridors and she'd have to be blind to miss his scurrying form. He all but flew down the corridors and towards the locker rooms, aware that Jacqui was hot on his heels. He knew he couldn't lose her and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"What happened?" she asked, alarmed at his frantic movements. For such a tough cookie, she was always so worried when her friends were in potential trouble.

"Sanders spilled silver nitrate," he explained, quickly unbuttoning his shirt, the chemical beginning to burn his skin. In most circumstances, a man and a woman would be slightly embarrassed to see each other with the proper amount of clothes, but this was Jacqui Franco he was talking about. She knew no shame and that was actually quite admirable. "I have to find a change of clothes. And a shower, now that I think about it."

"I'll get an extra shirt from your locker," she offered, turning towards his small locked cubbyhole.

"I don't have one."

"You don't _have_ one?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'll check Bobby and Archie's lockers."

"Why would an audio visual technician have extra clothes around?" Beat. "And how do you know their combinations anyway?"

Jacqui conveniently ignored the latter query as she began to hack into Archie's locker first. He watched as she twisted the padlock with expert fingers until it popped open. Why was he surprised? He knew he shouldn't be, but observing her shuffle through Archie's belongings (and, upon finding nothing of use, starting on Bobby's) made him realize a very important fact: he desperately needed to change his locker combination, not that it would stop her. He had a feeling that in the right situation, Jacqui probably had a limitless amount of patience, especially if it involved sifting through someone else's personal belongings. He shook his head, wondering where she had learned such a sneaky trick; then again, there were some things best left undiscovered.

As he had predicted, neither of the two men had anything of use. This, of course, didn't amend the fact that he needed a change of clothes and, upon further reflection, a shower. Jacqui huffed as she plopped down onto a bench, annoyed that neither Archie nor Bobby had any extra garments for her disposal. She bit her lip, mulling the predicament over while David began to sift through his own belongings, hoping to find something helpful. Like soap.

"What about Greg's clothes?" she finally asked. "He's a CSI now. He's got to have a t-shirt or something."

"A Papa Roach concert t-shirt?" David asked, clearly unenthused at the thought. "Forgive me if I think it'll be too obvious."

"Good point. He's toned it down a bit, though."

"It doesn't change the fact that it' still a Papa Roach t-shirt," he replied before pausing to consider the notion. He didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. And was it really such a bad idea? The lab coat would cover most of it and it wasn't as if Greg had any right to protest. He was the one had started the whole calamity and it was only fair that h-

"Hold on," she interrupted, cutting off his train of thought. He quirked an eyebrow; she had an idea and it was obviously better than his own. "I'll be right back."

He didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Where are you going?" he asked, leaning just in time to see her dash out of the locker rooms and into the hallway, determination in her every step.

"Just trust me," she replied, calling it over her shoulder before she disappeared completely.

Just _trust_ her? Those were _never_ good words to hear, especially when they came from Jacqui Franco's mouth. However, he was in no state to protest. He sighed, silently resigning himself to her plan, before returning to his task of undressing.

He immediately set to cleaning himself up in her absence. The first phase? A shower.

He hadn't used the CSI's showers before; then again, technicians rarely reeked of decomp. The showers were open to anyone, but David never had the inclination to utilize them; after all, they were _public_, as in anyone could walk it and see him sans clothes. The alternative, of course, was the prospect of the nitrate burning his flesh. One hand: naked in a semi-public place. Other hand: scorched skin. One hand: complete and utter humiliation at being seen. Other hand: deformity.

Deformity it was.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he quickly stripped down, praying to God no one needed to clean themselves in the next two minutes. It was like being in high school all over again, afraid that popular jocks were about to walk in and snicker at his lanky body. David could just imagine Warrick strolling by; should such a crisis occur, Grissom would have David's resignation papers before morning. David would never be able to face the man again and that simply wasn't an ideal working relationship.

He turned the water on full blast, nice and hot. He hurriedly grabbed one of the bars of soap and began scrubbing. Stomach, hands, wrists; whatever body part was touched by the foul substance was what he wanted clean. He realized his hair was soaked too; he hadn't thought about that and the lab didn't have any spare hair dryers lying around. He knew he was going to look like an idiot with flat hair and borrowed clothing; he briefly wondered if he could wear a paper bag over his head.

That was probably a bad idea.

And yet it had its possibilities.

A record one minute and forty-six seconds later, he shut off the water. The sound of the running stream faded away and he stood listening, trying to determine if anyone had entered the locker room while he hadn't been paying attention. There weren't any voices or the scuffing of shoes; Jacqui hadn't even returned yet, which equaled one blessed fact: he might survive to see the sunrise.

He quickly found one of the lab's proffered towels and began drying off while mentally considering his clothing situation. His boxers were still clean, his slacks having taken the brunt of the attack. Pants. He needed pants. He simply couldn't work without them, and he was sure (despite his dazzling physique) that his co-workers would appreciate his wearing them as well. He slipped into his boxers, stuck his head around to see if anyone had slipped in undetected and, upon realizing he was in the clear, headed towards his locker, anxiously shuffling through its contents. Three CDs, a two-day-old PB&J, a birthday card he had needed to send two weeks ago, his backpack… wait a minute. Backpack. He was certain the Pants God was watching out for him when he realized he still had Carter's jeans stuffed in there, waiting to be returned. He did a mental victory dance in his head.

He was halfway through frantically unzipping the bag and getting said jeans (which he preferred not to wear. They were _date_ jeans, meaning they fit too tightly in certain areas, but he was hoping his lab coat could cover all that.) when he cell began to ring. He shot it an evil glare and considered the pros and cons of answering; in the end, the possibility of it being Grissom won over the chance that it might have been Ms. Rainey.

"Hodges," he snapped while simultaneously shimmying into his jeans. Greg was going to pay for this with blood. Or hair gel. Whichever hurt him the most.

"_David?"_

"Daphne?"

"_I –uh- have a predicament."_

"I don't suppose it can wait, can it?"

"_Carter asked me out."_

"_The_ Carter for 2L?" It was a pointless question, because neither knew anyone else by the name of Carter. And one day, he knew he'd have to start calling him Dexter, but he and Daphne had been calling him _the _Carter (emphasis on 'the') for so long that he wasn't sure he could. Besides, the name still bothered him. Dexter Carter. It was phonetically awkward.

"_That's the one."_

He paused. The jeans were buttoned and zipped. Score one for the good guys.

"Don't we hate him?"

"_Well, he _did _lend you some clothes."_

"Daphne, it's three o'clock in the morning. What are you still doing up anyway?"

"_I couldn't sleep."_

"Because of Carter's question?"

"_Well, yeah,"_ she sheepishly admitted. "_I wanted your opinion."_

Behind him, he could hear Jacqui clear her throat. He didn't turn to face her; instead, he waved his hand, hoping she'd wait. Not that he was prone to gossip, but this was huge news. He had been forced to listen to Daphne's lament on how she was thirty-five and still single for years. Now a somewhat handsome, somewhat rich, barely decent man was asking her out? Sure he had caught sight of the glances Carter kept sending her way, but David still didn't like it. Maybe he was paranoid. Or over-protective. Or both.

That would certainly explain a few things.

"Daph, call my apartment and give me all the details in sixty seconds or less."

"_Why sixty seconds?"_

"My machine will cut you off. I have to go."

"But—''

He ended the call, feeling guilty for blowing her off, but he had a smelly lab to deal with and an impatient Jacqui as well. He knew that if given the chance, Daphne would have rambled on and on, giving him every detail from what time it was to what she was wearing to what the temperature had been when Carter had posed the question. David was admittedly curious, but he didn't have the time for details. He hardly had time to get dressed.

"It was Daphne," he supplied as he shoved his backpack into his locker and slammed the door. "Carter asked her out. Now I have to figure out a way to dissuade him. I wonder how long it would take for Grissom to find his body in the middle of…"

He turned and trailed off, because it wasn't just Jacqui who was standing there.

It was Nick as well.

Holding a green shirt.

A shirt? Oh, yeah. Didn't he need one of those?

Jacqui glanced at David and then the Texan before looking back again.

"I found you a shirt," she stated, looking as uncomfortable as the other two felt. Which, by the way, was pretty damn uncomfortable.

David felt as if he were completely naked in the middle of the Strip instead of half naked in the middle of the locker rooms. Was he blushing? God, please don't let him be blushing. He was expecting some cute remark from Nick, a barb in which he could promptly respond, but none came. Nick fleetingly met David's eyes before thrusting the green shirt towards him.

"Thanks," David said, shooting Nick an odd look as he accepted the offering. "I'll return it to you place after shift."

"It's okay," Nick hurriedly replied. "Whenever's fine. Listen, I gotta get back to Greg."

And with that, he was gone. No goodbyes or even "I'll catch you later"- he simply turned and walked away, as if he were suffocating within the room.

Call David crazy, but something about that was wrong.

"What just happened?" he asked, staring at the doorway before turning back to his friend. Nick hadn't even been able to meet his eyes; what did that mean? He needed a man translator. Reading body language just wasn't David's area of expertise.

"Well, it looked like Nick was trying to get away from you as quickly as he could," Jacqui replied.

"That's not the answer I was looking for," David muttered as he sat on one of the benches, angrily buttoning up his borrowed clothing. That was just great, wasn't it? Nick officially considered David to be disgusting. Sure, he was a little bit skinny and gangly and-

"David?"

"What?" he snapped. Jacqui was sitting next to him.

"Are you okay?"

"He thinks I'm ugly."

"You sound like some high school girl."

"What do you expect me to sound like? He ran out of here like I was threatening to chop him up with an axe."

"Y'know, he ran because he was embarrassed."

"Trying to figure out a way to dump me."

"He was _blushing_."

"A sign of utter mortification."

"It's a sign of being turned on," Jacqui muttered. "You're such a moron."

…

It was easy to tell oneself to ditch the nerves and face your fears, especially when you were _away_ from your fear. With this in mind, the thought of giving Nick his shirt back didn't faze David in the least. He was completely composed as he drove towards Nick's house and he was even calm as he walked up to the other man's doorway. It wasn't until he had rung the doorbell that David began to seriously consider the consequences of his actions. Suddenly, Nick's home wasn't a home; it was a deathtrap, giving David the feeling that he was entering a place from which he would never return. Why couldn't he just give Nick his shirt back the next evening while at work? Why did he even need to be down here? What had possessed him to drive from the lab to his apartment to change and then to Nick's? He clutched the shirt with white knuckles and was tempted to simply leave it on the doorstep for Nick to find the next evening, but that would be gutless. And David might not be romantic or sweet or particularly charming, but he _wasn't _gutless.

Well, not much.

A few moments passed, giving David the time to genuinely contemplate whether he could jump behind the line of bushes that adorned the side of Nick's porch. Was it really such a bad idea? It probably wouldn't be, but David's car was in the driveway. Even if Nick _wasn't_ armed with CSI skills, he'd still notice because it was, after all, a _car_. David sucked in a deep breath, fully aware there was no way out of the situation. Plan B was to simply shove the shirt into Nick's arms and get the hell out of there. It seemed like a good arrangement to him.

His plans of escape were dashed upon the jagged rocks of ruin and despair when the door in front of him swung open, Nick standing on the other side. He shot David a wide grin, as though he were actually happy to see him. He had changed from his regular clothes to some bummier ones; his shirt was light blue and long sleeved with a faded surf logo on the front while his navy pajama bottoms pooled slightly around his bare feet. It was basic, but Nick was a simple kind of guy. David had to admire that.

"Hey Dave," he greeted, leaning against the doorframe and looking like sex on a stick. His glasses were crooked and he had obviously showered; his hair was wet and sticking up in several places, but the plain look still had David's mouth going dry. He inwardly kicked himself; why couldn't he function like a normal human being? It wasn't as though he were _lusting_ or anything. That's what sexually deprived teenagers did, and he certainly wasn't either of those things. Well, he wasn't a teenager, at least.

Sexually deprived might be another story.

"Thought you'd like your shirt back," David muttered, holding up the green top while justifying his being there. He suddenly felt like Greg; that is, stupid. Even though Nick was decked out in house clothes, David still felt out of place and awkward. David breathed and told himself to relax; it wasn't like Nick was going to shoot him. Not fatally, at any rate.

"Thanks," Nick replied, taking the shirt with a smile before opening his door further. "Want to come in?"

"I can't. I have…" David trailed off, wishing he'd sorted out his lies before knocking. "Daphne needs help with her sink. It's leaking like crazy."

"You're a pretty crummy liar, Dave."

"You can't fault me for trying," he replied, submitting himself to Nick's invitation. He walked in, the other man closing the door behind him and arching a curious eyebrow as he did so.

"Is there a particular reason you don't want to be here?"

"The Easy Mac scares me," David promptly replied. "I told Carter about it and he agrees that it's the most foul stuff to be marketed as edible since Spam."

"Dude, no matter what you say, I'll always embrace the boxed goods."

"Cheese isn't supposed to be _powder_. Flour is powder. Sugar is powder. Baking soda is powder. But cheese is a solid block of dairy goodness, Nick."

Nick snorted with laughter, flopping onto a couch, David joining him. It had been a long night, after all, and they were both tired. Although they could usually get through a case within a few days, the restaurant murders were proving to be difficult. They couldn't seem to get a suspect and all the dead bodies could prove was that they were dead.

"A solid block of dairy goodness?" Nick asked, clearly amused.

"That came right from Carter's mouth. He was scandalized by the thought of any powdered dairy product."

Nick shook his head, unable to fight his grin. David had some of the oddest friends Nick had ever met; not frighteningly weird, simply unique and… well, unique. The shirt had been tossed over the couch armrest; it appeared as thought David had gone through the trouble of washing it and then ironing, but it had been balled up so many times that the ironing had been a wasted effort. It showed David's nervousness, although the technician hid it well. Nick glanced to his right, where David was sitting, looking rather tired and worn down. The awkwardness they had started with a few days ago seemed to be disappearing little by little; it was to the point that they could be together without feeling the need to fill the silence with words.

"I wanted to apologize for the test," David finally admitted, adjusting himself so that he was facing Nick, Nick mirroring his actions. "They can get overzealous at times."

"Overzealous? David, they threatened to store me in Archie's attic."

"Archie's attic is actually really nice. It's Jacqui's I'm scared off. I don't think she's aware that there's an entire spider colony living up there, plotting world domination."

"Jacqui has an attic full of world-dominating spiders?"

"They're getting intelligent, Nick. The know how to beat all of her insect traps."

"I wouldn't be surprised if anything inhabiting her house would have her personality," Nick mused, a smile on his face. "Jacqui's certainly a character. You should have seen her looking for me, man. She dragged me through the halls, saying something about you needing some clothes. Warrick's expression was priceless."

"Oh my God," David groaned, holding his head in hands. Could tonight get any worse? "Warrick knows?"

"Jacqui didn't spare any details. She said that Greg spilt some silver nitrate."

"You don't have to tell _me_ about it," David pointed out. "I was there. I have every detail committed to memory."

"Right," Nick agreed, grinning at David's exasperated expression. "I just like seeing you all keyed up about."

"That's sweet. It's no wonder you're still single."

"That's good news for you. My being single is obviously why we're together right this very moment."

"Good news? If that's what you want to call it, then sure."

Nick laughed. "It seems your day was less that perfect. You looked pretty stressed standing in the locker rooms."

David felt his embarrassment grow, the reminder making him feel ill. It didn't help his self-esteem to know that Nick had seen his gangly body halfway unclothed and had all but flown out just a few moments later. He wasn't perfect and one of his past lovers had even told him so. Did he really have any chance at keeping Nick's interest when he had such low sex appeal?

At David's sudden silence, Nick frowned and placed his hand on David's arm, the other man trying not to flinch under the touch. He didn't have much physical contact and felt jumpy when people touched him. He just wanted to get this over with.

"Look, I saw the way you tried to get out of there," David began, not meeting Nick's eyes. "I know you're probably having seconds thoughts about us and that's understand-''

"Second thoughts?" Nick asked, obviously alarmed by the technician's words. "No way. It's just that I… I guess I was just embarrassed." The last word came out as a whisper and David had to strain to hear it.

"Embarrassed?" David asked, perplexed by the notion. "I guess I'd be a little unnerved as well. And I'm sure Jacqui was dragging you along pretty quickly. She has that ability."

"I noticed," Nick replied, smiling. It wasn't a grin and it didn't reflect Nick's previously good mood. David inwardly kicked himself; he had obviously done something to ruin their easy banter. What had he said? He was only trying to give Nick an easy out. However, Nick seemed to read David's uneasy thoughts and he continued speaking. "I was embarrassed because I saw you and I… reacted. Badly. Bad for me, that is. You were just so at ease when you thought no one was there. I thought you were perfect like that. It's… kind of scary."

"Scary?"

"Me wanting you so much," Nick replied. The words blasted through David, raced through every vein, made his heart practically stop as he heard blood roar in his ears. He had this horrible tendency to deny himself things that made him happy, that made his life worthwhile, but he had no strength to try that anymore. Nick was six inches away and Nick _liked_ David, was attracted to him; the technician didn't understand why, but God, he was glad that he was.

"I don't know why you do," David replied, although his voice was softer and had a gravelly tone to it.

His response had been surprisingly honest and Nick had to wonder why the technician thought so little of himself, especially when he carried around such a strong sense of pride. Whatever had happened in his past was still sticking to him and making himself feel less than what he was.

He was just going to have to change that.

Nick leaned in closer, his eyes sweeping across David's face for any indication that he wasn't sure. There was a silent moment between them, each able to feel the other breathe, before David met Nick halfway and hesitantly connected their lips.

Nick pressed his lips in return and it was hot and open and even though David had taken a breath, he still felt dizzy and warm. Nick's tongue skimmed between David's and the technician had little choice but to part them. Their tongues met in the middle, battling a war neither really wanted to win or lose. They were both content to fight at the moment, and David found his arms winding around Nick's shoulders while Nick's hands snuck beneath the hem of David's shirt. The Texan's fingertips felt electric against David's skin and he hated himself for shivering at the contact.

His mind was reeling and his skin was on fire when they finally broke apart and met each other's eyes.

They were both breathing heavily, their eyes bright with a myriad of emotions and what was sure to be stupid grins nearly splitting their faces in half. Nick smiled and then let out a short, anxious laugh, his appearance boyish, even with the laugh lines. David couldn't say he fared any better when it came to the ability to communicate coherently, so he settled against the couch instead, still wrapped around Nick.

"Our first kiss," Nick surmised, grinning as if he just won the jackpot. "Been waiting to do that for a while."

David, for all his wit and words, couldn't even begin to form a lucid sentence. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. They had just kissed. Them. The two of them. Nick and he. In Nick's home.

David opened his mouth to say something –anything to prove he was capable of doing so- but nothing came out and he simply closed his mouth again to stop from looking stupid. The Texan smiled, leaning in and affectionately catching the corner of his mouth before their lips met once more. David loved it, felt alive when Nick was there and he told his mind to just shut down already. Stop thinking and just go with the moment. Nick was so warm and no one had ever bothered to act that way towards him before; it was as if Nick really cared for him, could truly love him if it got serious enough.

The thought made him wonderfully lightheaded.

But David didn't know how he was supposed to make this work and he wasn't sure if he could. He and Nick had somehow attached themselves to each other, had become accustomed and intimate without even touching each other physically. They had become friends and the only shaky variable in the entire equation was David's lack of belief… in himself.

_I dive into the deep end  
You become my best friend  
I wanna love you but  
Don't know if I can_.

_X & Y_, Coldplay

TBC.


	10. Wherein A Plan Is Put Into Action

A/T: Ah, the holidays have come and gone. Between trying to make gifts, helping my grandparents, finishing my fic requests, completing my schoolwork and doing well in band, I fear my time is limited, but I love this story and I hope that you love it too. I _finally_ fixed the coding problem, so let us read and write into a fabulous New Year!

Disclaimer: Not yours, not mine. Le sigh.

To xpennyroyalx: Uhm… thanks. Your praise for the last chaptermeant a lot. I think. –laughs-

To moonlightpoetry: Aw, thanks! That was such a wonderful thing to read!

And to everyone on dhodges… thanks for your love and support! I love you guys oh-so-muchly.

Snapshots  
Act 10: Wherein A Plan Is Put Into Action and Jacqui Breaks

He had drawn the short straw.

Again.

He didn't know how it happened, but Chance and Fate seemed to enjoy conspiring against him, intent on making him as miserable as they could get away with. And what better way to agonize his existence than plotting to make sure he drew the short straw once more? Hell, why did they even bother with the drawing of the straws? They all knew he was going to extract the short one anyway. They might as well just bypass the formality and send him to the gallows.

To understand his situation correctly, one must know that the technicians had a system. See, it's one thing to have a plot of some sort, but it's quite another to try and get someone to carry it out. Let's say this plot, for instance, involved matchmaking. It was a fun-for-all, giggle-inducing pastime that made David want to wretch, but the deal was that whoever drew the short straw was the one who was responsible for doing the dirty work; it had seemed fair at first, but it began getting more and more obvious that David was _always_ going to be the henchman. And sure, he enjoyed being evil… but matchmaking wasn't really his forte.

Especially if it involved David Phillips and Bobby Dawson.

"I always draw the short straw," David muttered, glaring at the small straw he was currently holding. "You've rigged this somehow, Jacq. I'm going to figure out how you do it."

"You can't cheat on drawing straws, David," Jacqui gently (and smugly) reminded. "It's all a matter of chance."

"You, Jacqui Franco, could rig _anything_," David retorted, allowing himself a small smile of amusement as she grinned and nodded proudly at the accusation.

David wasn't upset about his impending mission; he had been mentally preparing himself for days, aware that he would inevitably be the one responsible for putting Jacqui's scheme into motion. However, there was one thing that always bothered him about playing Cupid: what if it didn't work out? It would obviously be the matchmaker's fault and David wasn't jumping at the chance for having Bobby hating his guts. Because contrary to popular belief, he didn't enjoy having _everyone_ despising his existence… just most.

"Now that David's been marked, you can at least give him the plan," Archie replied. "If it were up to him, this thing would never leave the ground."

"Wise words," Jacqui agreed, give a theatric twirl as she headed towards the refrigerator where her lunch was currently stored. "I've devised the classic love letter method for our two-''

"Unfortunate souls," David interrupted.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you're not getting out of this," Jacqui replied in a singsong voice, allowing herself an expression of pure glee as she turned to face the trace technician.

"You're an unforgiving woman," David muttered as he poured himself a mug of java. He added two creamers and sugars and then, upon further reflection, added another sugar for the sake of an energy boost.

"I learned from the best," she replied. "The woman part, at least."

Ronnie snorted from his seat as David turned to shoot him an annoyed look. He had just been insulted and all Ronnie could do was laugh? He needed a new set of friends, pronto.

"Thanks for that amazing show of support, Litre. You're off my Christmas list."

Ronnie indulged himself in a wide grin. "David, if you think I would take your side over Jacqui's, then you aren't well upstairs. Get me?"

"Right, right. Are you two forming the women's army or something?"

"We don't need an army," Jacqui flippantly replied as Ronnie ignored David's blatant insult. "We already rule the world. I applaud your effort to squirm your way out of the plan, though. Very nice."

"But there's a difference between trying and failing," Archie reminded, grinning as Jacqui looked far too pleased about the entire ordeal. "You, my friend, are failing. And unless you plan to skip town within the next sixty seconds, this set-up is unavoidable."

"I don't even understand why we have to do this," David complained. "How do you even know they like each other? Or that David Phillips even likes men?"

"Did you not see them yesterday?" Jacqui asked, as if fully exasperated. "Are you blind?"

"Jacq, I'm not a mind reader. You have to spell it out for me."

"Fine then. David Phillips was staring at Bobby Dawson. How plain do I need to make this for you?"

"What, a guy can't look at another guy without you jumping to your excessively romantic conclusions?"

"Hey, I'm a scientist just like you. I just happen to notice other things too, like when someone stares at another person for an unnecessarily long period of time-''

"The man deals with dead people five days a week. He's allowed to zone out if he wants, and if it happens to be in Bobby's direction then so be it. I still don't know why we have to do this."

"Why _you_ have to do this," Jacqui corrected. David grimaced as the truthful words hit home. He turned and poured himself another cup of coffee. He was going to need a hell of a lot of caffeine if he had any hopes of pulling the scheme off.

…

Two hours later, David was sure he looked suspicious as he stood outside of Bobby's empty lab. Trace techs didn't just double as bullet techs, so the only reason he would need to be there was… actually, he couldn't think of one. Upon realizing that he wouldn't be able to explain his presence should Grissom, Ecklie, or Bobby himself walk up, he knew he had to get the letter in there straight away.

The plan was simple: Jacqui had typed up a letter that was supposed to be from David Phillips asking Bobby to a movie that Friday night. Of course, she made sure to wear gloves and not lick the seal, but David was still positive it wasn't going to work. It was too simple. Who could be so gullible as to believe a fake letter?

Despite his own views, David was still the one in charge of getting the letter on Bobby's desk. He took a quick look over his shoulder, making sure Bobby was still in the men's room, before hurriedly walking inside, slapping the envelope next to Bobby's microscope, and high tailing it out of there.

That was actually rather simple.

His stroll was swift as he made his way back towards his own lab, giving Mia a small nod through the glass, a signal that the letter was signed, sealed, and delivered. She smiled before getting back to work, endlessly amused by David and his four –well, three, considering Bobby wasn't in on it- comrades. His mission now complete, David new he could continue on with his work without having to be bothered by romantically scheming women and their love of being in love.

…

"Ahem."

David's concentration broke at the familiar voice; of course, it was bound to happen. What was a night at work without a few minutes of trading quips with Greg? The CSI usually came in either bearing new evidence or wanting results, but he never just _left_ like Sara or Catherine did. No, he stayed, irritating David to the point where he knew the technician would either have to respond or spontaneously combust. By doing so, he forced David to speak, which was always his original plan anyway.

Simply put, he wanted to talk to David and he wanted David to talk back. If annoying the technician was the best way of doing it, then far be it for him to ignore the trick.

However, David couldn't help but notice the way Greg entered his lab that night. He usually bopped in, driven by some unknown energy (and Blue Hawaiian coffee) but tonight he looked… nervous. Greg coming to see him was always bad news, but when he was void of his energy, David took that as a dire sign. It meant Greg was trying to be nice by keeping his insults on the down-low, but he was never nice without having a motive. David glanced towards him as the blonde slowly made his way towards the technician, attempting to act casual and, by trying to do so, made himself all the more obvious.

"Spit it out, Sanders. What do you want?" David asked after glancing up from his microscope and then looking back down, intent on his work. It was frightening how well they knew each other.

"What makes you think I want anything?"

"No one visits my lab for the hell of it."

"That's just plain insulting, Dave. I'd never be so shallow as to use you only for results."

"What's insulting is that you think I honestly don't see through every innocent face you pull. I know you want something, so spit it out before I get violent."

"Okay, sheesh. Someone's grumpy."

"I'm just being straightforward. And don't get too close to any of those chemical either, Butterfingers. I only have so many shirts."

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

"Depends. How miserable will it make you feel knowing that you almost burned my skin off?"

"You're being a bit dramatic, aren't you?"

"I get my kicks where I can."

At Greg's uncertain silence, David looked up once more. Greg was, in truth, wearing an expression that portrayed his guilt. Sure, David gave him a hard time, but was Greg really feeling bad about the night before? Silver nitrate burnt, but it hadn't exactly been a lethal situation.

"Come on, Sanders. I'm only kidding."

"It's disconcerting to know that you find my misery amusing."

"I'm sick and twisted that way. Now what are you here for?"

"Again with the pestering," Greg said, his words light, although the mood didn't seem genuine. With a deep breath, Greg continued. "Listen, I know you aren't going to like this, but Sara called in sick."

"I'll send her a card. Anything else?"

"We… need another CSI."

David knew all too well where this conversation was heading and he made quick work with trying to stop it.

"Well, you won't find one in this particular lab. There's you, of course, and then there's me. In case you've forgotten who I am, then I'll be glad to reintroduce myself. Hi," David said, sarcasm dripping from his words as he stuck out his hand in mock greeting. "My name's David Hodges. I'm a _trace technician_."

"Oh, come on! Please? We've got so many cases and this is a… well, we've got nineteen dead women on our hands."

"You're still on that case?"

"Hey, we're investigators, not miracle workers."

"I'm sorry, but are you being _humble_?"

Greg ignored the question in favor of sending David an imploring look. "Please?"

David heaved a suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Then let me put up my coat and I'll get the extra field kit. You owe me."

"The China Doll?"

"Four fifty an egg roll, Sanders."

"It's a deal, Dave."

…

"I bet you're thrilled to be here, aren't you?" Nick asked as he fell into step with David, each man approaching the house that was to be his new home for the next four hours. It was a surprisingly cozy looking place with light yellow siding and cream shutters. David almost felt as though he had been transported into some sort of fairy tale, because the house wasn't only pleasantly painted, but there were flowers lining the back porch and a swing that stood beneath a large tree.

"Stokes, as liberating as the act of thinking probably is for you, I'll have you know that this isn't unbearable. Annoying? Yes. Infuriating? Definitely. Unbearable? That may be too strong of a term."

"Well, the story's that Greg was close to begging you for the help."

"Close? He _pleaded_. Said if it weren't for me, this entire case would crumbled before the lab's eyes and only my brilliance could ever be able salvage it."

"You've been spending way too many hours in the lab, dude."

"A man has to venthis creativity somewhere."

Nick laughed and shook his head, sending David one of his patented smiles. "You're a real trip, David."

"Glad you caught on, Stokes. I'm the witty trip and you're just my lackey."

"I don't remember signing up to be one of your dark minions."

"I forged your signature. Besides, doing my evil will in exchange for a few hours in my presence is a fair trade, don't you think?"

"Oh, absolutely. What more could I ask for?"

David tried to hide his own laughter, but ended up failing as they climbed the few steps to the porch.

"So why are we here?" David asked, his laughter dying and being replaced by solemnity. "Did you guys finally get bored of the restaurant?"

"Well, Jacqui ended up getting a hit on some of the prints we recovered from the floor of the freezers. Led us to a guy named Martin Porter, which led to this house."

"I'm assuming he isn't here."

"CSIs never assume anything, David."

"Considering I'm not a CSI, I have the right to assume the moon's made of cheese if I want to."

"Point. To answer your question, the uniforms cleared the house about half an hour ago."

"See, was that so hard? A simple reply was all I was asking for."

"Simple? You? I don't think so."

"Laugh now, funny boy, but I'd watch your back," David retorted as Nick opened the front door for him. He was naturally chivalrous and David figured he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. The living room and dining room were up front, so the back door led them straight into the kitchen; David, using his God-given intelligence, supposed that the kitchen was where they were supposed to start. Despite their "lackey" conversation a few moments ago, David knew _he_ was the one who could do nothing but follow Nick around when it came to a crime scene. He was a newbie, even newer then Greg, and that was both frightening and depressing.

However, their companionship was short lived. Brass stuck his head in a few moments later, nodding towards David in an I-acknowledge-your-presence-but-don't-really-care sort of way. David rolled his eyes; he was used to it.

"We've got paparazzi giving Greg a hard time. Think you can answer a few question to keep 'em at bay?"

Nick sighed but nodded. "Yeah, sure. How bad?"

"Greg can't get out of his car."

"Christ. Good thing we took the back way."

Nick nodded again before turning towards David. "Just start doing your thing. I gotta deal with these news crews," he informed, pointed to the kitchen door, which led to the living room, which led to the front door, which led to the driveway, which led to where Greg was currently being blockaded by reporters, cameras, and microphones. "Never seems to be enough officers when it gets like this."

"They're obstructing Greg? Give them my thanks while you're out there."

"Be nice."

"I will, but I won't like it."

Nick merely shook his head, barely hiding his smile, and left David alone in the kitchen with a camera and a field kit as he and Brass headed back outside.

Despite his know-it-all exterior, David wasn't comfortable being out in the field. He wanted someone –even Greg- with him, looking over his shoulder to make sure he was collecting it properly. Of course, he knew he was collecting it suitably, but it was always nice to have a witness in case the defense decided to question his competence on the stand. David observed the room as he mulled it over in his head. He had seen Greg do this a million times before, right? They usually just started on the outskirts and worked their way towards the center.

David, now armed with a strategy, chose the northern wall and, incidentally, the sink and corresponding appliances. Toaster, coffee maker, and oven. Joy.

Nonetheless, the thing about collecting evidence was that you got into it. By the time he had finished with the sink, ten minutes had passed without him even noticing the movement of time. He knew Nick and Greg were still outside, trying to answer questions while getting the officers to move the yellow tape a few more feet outwards. Truthfully, David didn't mind the solitude. As a matter of fact, he worked pretty well when he was alone, so it didn't surprise him that he had managed to gather a small stack of tiny debris, a shard of glass, some random hairs, and a piece of fingernail by the fifteen minute mark. It had been carefully photographed, gathered, and labeled. If the suspect's lawyer wanted to question his method of collection, David was going to make sure they had a hard time of it.

By the sixteen minute mark, he began to feel uncomfortable.

He paused in his methodic work, glancing around the empty kitchen. He had been fine sixty seconds ago, but his gut instinct was beginning to rouse, voicing a silent concern. He set his camera on the counter, peering out the window above the sink. There wasn't anyone out there and an inspection of the closet, closest hallway, and adjoining dining room revealed the same thing; emptiness. With a roll of his eyes, he returned to his work station, intent to begin where he left off. He was going crazy and he had every intention of blaming Greg.

At the eighteen minute mark, he heard the shouts and the gunshots.

He jumped and spun, his heart making itself right at home in his throat as he did the first thing that came to him: he ducked. His breathing increased as he heard the frantic voices of the officers outside; even clearer was Nick's voice. David suddenly wanted Nick with him, because he was actually scared. Why were they firing shots? Was Nick okay? What in the world possessed them to-?

His thoughts ceased when he heard a calamity a few rooms away. He flexed his fists, his knuckles white, because he was suddenly aware of one single fact: there was someone else in the house with him.

A house that was meant to be vacant.

He swallowed, forcing himself into a corner as he strained to listen for footsteps. Officially, he was a technician. Unofficially, he was an almost-CSI. So was he supposed to let their suspect escape? Could he stop him? He considered what he had to work with before realizing that he probably couldn't; he didn't have a gun or any means of protecting himself. All he had as a defense was the vest he was wearing, unless the suspect decided to aim for his head. In that case, he was screwed.

He continued to hear the frantic, loud voices of the officers in the front yard as he hovered in the kitchen, trying to discern what they were saying. What surprised him more was that besides his and Nick's own safety, his second biggest concern was the evidence. It was all piled up; the prints, the trace, the debris. Even as he heard the suspect plowing through the living room, David knew he couldn't let the evidence be destroyed. He lurched for it, quickly shoving the tubes and bags into his field kit. He slammed the top down, locked the sides and made a beeline for the backdoor. Were those footsteps he heard? He knew they were, and they certainly weren't those of friendly detectives. He briefly wondered if he could make it to the exit in time; he knew he couldn't, knew their suspect would barge through the backdoor any millisecond now, but that didn't stop him from trying.

David's heart nearly ceased its beating when he heard the kitchen door crash open.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you, asshole," came a voice. It sounded as though he were high on something, because the tone was frantic, desperate. "Is that the evidence?"

David didn't reply; he didn't even turn around. He had no idea how in the world he was going to get out of this in one piece. His first task was to try and start breathing again, because there was no use surviving a gun wound when you were just going to die of suffocation anyway.

However, the cocked gun wasn't helping his cause any.

"I asked you if that was the evidence. You wanna answer me?" the man asked. David could practically feel the gun aimed at the back of his head, but he still didn't turn around. His legs felt like lead, his feet like concrete. David swallowed, trying to get his voice to work. He hoped he didn't sound as scared as he actually was.

"I've only been here a few minutes. There's isn't much."

"Nice try, fucker. Get over here."

David's mind was running a trillion miles an hour as he slowly turned around, unwilling to give up what little evidence he had. Sure, if there were numerous prints and fragments to link this bastard to the crime, he would have given up the kit and even offered to gift-wrap it. But the fact remained that what lay within the case was some of the only evidence they had against their murderer. There was little to nothing else. Could David just sacrifice it without a fight?

"I can't do that," David whispered, willing the waver in his voice to disappear.

"You think I won't shoot your fucking brains out?" the man roared, pointing his gun for emphasis. "I'm getting that fancy box of yours whether you're alive or dead. It's up to you."

Because David was a scientist, his mind began to instantly rationalize his predicament. "One shot and you're done for. This house is surrounded by cops. If they hear a shot, they'll assume I'm dead and storm in here."

"That's shit."

"Is it? Give it a try and tell me what happens."

"Can't tell you what happens if you're drowning in your own blood. Gimme that God damn box."

"You _will_ tell me what happens," David replied, hoping his fear wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. "You'll get arrested and you'll lawyer up. When you lose your case, you'll spend a decade or so in prison, working with appeals. When you lose the appeals, you'll get sentenced to death by injection. We'll both end up in the same place."

"I ain't going no where, you fucking freak! Gimme the box!"

"HEY!"

Both the CSI and the suspect were startled by the new voice, one that came from right outside the backdoor of the kitchen. David felt himself grow sick with relief, because the voice belonged to Nick. He could recognize it anywhere.

The man paused and glanced at the door. He motioned for David to respond.

"David, are you okay?" Nick asked, his voice heavy with apprehension and anxiousness.

"I'm fine, Nick," David replied, keeping his as voice steady as he could manage.

"So can I come in?"

The man shook his head dangerously. David quickly replied. "I'm okay," he responded. "There's no need."

David wasn't sure what their suspect hoped to accomplish, especially when David's insistence that he was fine made it all the more obvious that he was in a dangerous situation.

"You sure?"

"Of course," David called back, wondering what was going on. Surely all the cops were planning something, right? Wait, Nick didn't actually believe David was okay, did he? David swallowed, trying to breathe deep and settle his stomach.

" 'Kay then. Brass saw that guy headin' West, so we've got two cars after him."

"I… yeah, sure. Good luck with that."

"See you 'round front, okay? I'll get some uniforms back here in case that guy decides to come back."

The man was looking rather pleased with himself as the kept the gun focused right on David. David felt himself fill with panic as he saw Nick's shadow move away from the door. He wanted to scream _Wait, come back,_ but he was sure their suspect definitely had the upper hand at the moment. David doubted he'd allow him to do anything but die.

The silence was deafening.

"You sure work with a bunch of dumbasses," the guy muttered, wearing a grim smile. "Kinda said, actually."

"How do you expect to get out of this? They aren't going to let you just waltz out of the house."

"You're right, but I've lived in this house for twenty years. I know it like the back of my hand, so don't try and talk your way out of this." At that, the man pulled something out of his pocket; David's heart quickened when he saw the object. He had spent enough time with Bobby to know that it was a gun silencer; no sound equaled no hope of rescue. It also meant that the murderer got away.

The silencer slid into place and David wondered if he really could bolt for the door in time. It was an impossible odd, but he couldn't just _stand_ there, could he? And what about his family? And friends? And Nick? And the evidence? It was all too heavy, weighing down on him like the universe did on Atlas.

Slide.

Click.

Aim.

Pu-

"FREEZE! DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

"David, get down!"

"Martin Porter, LVPD! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"

An entire myriad of voices came from the front of the kitchen door and even through them all, he could discern Nick's command of getting out of the line of fire. Of course, he did exactly that. Brass came in first with numerous uniforms following him, surrounding Porter with ready revolvers and even inclined triggers. Porter held his hand up, glancing at David before turning his attention back to the Captain.

"Porter, I'd put that gun down," Brass said, his voice dangerous. "Just set it on the floor."

"You don't understand," Porter began, a strange energy vibrating from the man's body. "I was cleansing Las Vegas! I was-''

"We'll talk about it downtown, Porter. Just put down your weapon!"

Nick had his gun aimed too, standing next to Brass, the personification of anger, worry, and menace. David knew that Nick loathed the unnecessary loss of life, but he had target practice for a reason. Should Porter do anything stupid, Nick wouldn't think twice about shooting and with David still cringing on the floor, Nick would be even more protective. David sent a silent plea to whatever deity was listening in: _Make him put it down. Make Porter lose the gun._

Porter glanced around, sizing up the situation, before muttering, "Not such dumbasses after all," and tossing the revolver onto the floor.

David tried not to tell himself it was desperation in Nick's eyes when the Texan leapt towards him, intent on only David. He tried to tell himself that Nick wasn't worried when the CSI all but flew to him, Martin Porter fighting a losing battle with a pair of cuffs around his wrists. But it was hard to convince himself of these things when Nick's arms wrapped around his waist, urgently latching onto him, as if he were afraid David might disappear into thin air.

"God, you idiot," Nick murmured, although it held less anger and more pain. His head was in the nook of David's neck, his voice muffled. "Trying to save the evidence instead of yourself. Christ, you had me so scared. I thought I fucking lost you, David. When I heard the way you were talking, I just…"

And although David had never been very talented in the way of comfort, he embraced Nick as well.

…

He walked through the door of the crime lab that night with weak legs. It felt as if he would collapse at any moment, but he couldn't allow himself such a treat. He didn't want people to think he was scared despite the fact he'd been two seconds away from begging for his life. But they had the evidence, his evidence, the bits and pieces that would get Martin Porter locked away for the rest of his years.

Nick was walking next to him, as silent as a statue. David was glad for this because he was cold –freezing, actually- and needed all the warmth he could get a hold of. He wished that they were at Nick's place instead, where he wouldn't have to pretend to be Superman and that he could get warm and fall asleep with Nick. They had never done anything like that –hell, they just had their first kiss yesterday- but it was still a nice idea. So sue him. You're just jealous.

He was surprised to see his friends clustered in the lobby. Bobby and Archie had shadows beneath their eyes as they tried to calm a pacing Jacqui. Ronnie was silently mulling on a chair while Daphne sat next to him, fiddling with her purse while trying not to break down. He idly wondered how Daphne knew he'd been on the nearside of a bullet- how any of them knew, actually. He supposed someone must have called it in from the scene and word traveled fast. They called dispatch, dispatch called Brass, Brass called Grissom; by that time, the entire lab would've known.

They all looked terrible, Daphne faring no better. Her face had no cosmetics, her clothes were wrinkled, even her legs unshaved. She had thrown on the clothes nearest to her, which equaled a blue jean skirt, a pink tank top, a yellow jacket and sock-less sneakers. She immediately looked up at David's entrance.

"Dave!" she said, rising up in a twitchy, scared manner. The rest of them looked up at the name, swiftly directing their attention towards him.

"Daphne? What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping the conversation as easy and natural as possible. He wanted to ease their worries, and acting like your old self was the first step in the right direction.

"I… Jacqui called. She was upset. She said you had been in…" She trailed off, hugging herself and looking away, trying to soothe her own discord. There was a silence before he broke it, unable to stand the hush.

"Guys, I'm fine. You don't have to worry."

"Fine?" Archie asked, anxious and attempting to appear calm anyway. "You're fine? David, you were… you were in a close call. Are you sure you're really okay?"

David wasn't quite sure how to handle a predicament like this. It wasn't their usual sarcastic banner; it was genuine concern and worry. He needed to treat it as such.

"Arch, I know it was a lit-''

"No, you don't know!" Jacqui barked, trying to keep her emotions in check by giving him a stony look. "You could have- have died and for what? You say you don't even have a scratch?"

"Jacq, listen, Nick wasn't going to let anything happen to me. He made sure the scene was-''

"Secure? No scene is _ever_ secure! That's why you're a damn technician, David! You're supposed to be in this lab while CSIs are doing the dangerous work!"

David glanced up. Various personnel were beginning to stare. Catherine and Grissom were staring from their place at the end of the hall while Warrick and Ecklie attempted to appear as though they weren't openly gawking. It seemed as though people didn't realize David Hodges even existed until his very life was threatened.

"Jacqui, please," Bobby quietly pleaded, not looking any better than his female friend. All Bobby, Archie, Mia, Ronnie, and Jacqui had heard were that "shots were fired" and a "lab analyst" had been the target. "People are starin'. Why don't we go outside?"

Strong Jacqui, who was never upset or phased, was on the verge of hysterics.

"I don't want to go outside! I want- I just can't believe-'' And before she could continue on, her tears betrayed her. Her eyes had been suspiciously glossy throughout her rant, but she refused to allow them to fall. However, it appeared as though she had no control over the matter. One tear fell, and then another, and before they could say anything, she had turned and stormed towards the front door.

…

David had always thought that being in the same room as Nick Stokes was nerve wracking, so to be in a car, an even tinier space that a lab or living room was torture on David's already vexed mental state. Grissom had made David take the rest of the night off; what surprised the technician even more was that Ecklie was behind Grissom one hundred percent. He wouldn't allow David to stay and even asked that Nick take him home, which could only make David wonder how observant Gil and Conrad actually were. Had they caught onto Nick and David's relationship? Or had the word simply spread via grapevine?

Either way, it was tough when Jacqui refused to speak to him. Archie and Bobby promised to visit the next night, offering to bring dinner or clean house, whatever could help David return from the recesses of near-death. David had insisted that they take care of Jacqui and Daphne instead. He wanted nothing more than to speak to his two female friends, but they were in a state of distraught and David couldn't help but be stunned. They were upset because he had almost died. He was that important to them and despite the entire ordeal, he knew how strong their friendship actually was. If it weren't for the gun and his sudden exhaustion, he actually felt pretty good.

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. David quietly watched the familiar scenery pass and Nick didn't speak, focusing on the road with almost too much concentration. They didn't speak as Nick pulled up to David's apartment building and even then, no words seemed to come. They simply locked the truck doors and made their way to the building, then the elevator, and past the numerous apartments until they were standing in front of David's door. Without a sound, David unlocked it and Nick followed him in without asking.

David was thankful for that.

Their hush was interrupted by the familiar noise (and, unfortunately, smell) of one Nana Hodges. David had put up a plastic baby divider in his kitchen, making sure she couldn't wander around and consequently pee on his living room, dining room, bedroom, or hallway carpet. However, the kitchen flooring was linoleum, so she could be as bladder and bowel happy as she pleased and all David had to do was lay out a few more sheets of newspaper.

Nevertheless, her animal intuition seemed to be kicking in. She stuck her neck over the tiny plastic gate and made a small "bah" before casting brown eyes over her owner, almost as if she could feel his trodden spirit.

"Hey Nan," David said, his tiredness evident in his voice as he wandered over to scratch behind her ears. "You hungry?"

"I'll take care of it," Nick offered. "If you want to take a shower or something. I could make you some dinner too. Are you hungry?"

"Just tired," David replied. "I think I'm just going to hid the sack. Her food's under the sink."

"Gotcha."

"Watch out for the mountains and lakes."

Nick's expression was confused as he cast a look in David's direction.

"She stays in the kitchen so that she won't mess on my carpet. It's Daphne's subtle way of saying don't step in the piss and crap."

"I think I like Daphne's phrase better," Nick replied, smiling as David grinned and shook his head. Nick had an inexplicable talent of making him feel better. How was that possible?

As Nick refilled Nana's food and water bowls, David wandered to his bedroom, mechanically untying his shoes, unbuckling his belt, and changing into his sleep wear. It was actually just his boxers and t-shirt, but he had never been particularly fancy about things like clothes. He tossed his shirt and khakis into the laundry basket before practically falling onto his mattress and pulling the blankets over him, his bones aching and his entire body screaming for rest.

However, he was still acutely aware that Nick was in his apartment. This fact was reiterated when Nick poked his head through David's bedroom doorway.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning against the frame. "Your pet's fed and happy. Maybe a little worried too, but it's hard to tell."

"And here I thought you were fluent in goat speak."

Nick laughed. "Sorry, it's a little rusty. Maybe next time."

"Maybe."

Nick frowned before meandering in and sitting on the edge of David's mattress, the springs barely groaning under the weight.

"David, are you sure you're okay?"

David sighed and shook his head. "Everyone's already asked me that twice. I'm fine, just tired. I feel like I could sleep for years."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Nick replied, reaching over and brushing David's cheek with his fingertips. "I was just… worried. More than worried, I think."

"And how's that?"

The other man sighed, now fiddling with David's brown hair. "I could hear your tone of voice when I was outside the kitchen door. It was way too even, y'know? I knew he was there and I was almost sure that he had a revolver between your eyes, but I knew I couldn't…"

Nick trailed off, reliving the memory in his head instead of with words. He finally sighed and kicked off his shoes before lying on the other side of the bad, turning on his side to face the technician.

"You can't just barge in. You could surprise the suspect and they'll accidentally squeeze the trigger, y'know? Luckily for us, Brass devised a plan."

"I was trying to sink into the floor, so I might have missed that part. What was the plan, exactly?"

"While I was talking to you through the door, the uniforms were going through the living room. Porter was concentrating on you and you were concentrating on me. He had no idea what was going on in the other room."

"Simple and genius."

"That's Jim."

Nick's arms wound around David's waist until they were pulled flush, chest meeting chest. David suppressed a pleased groan while trying not to feel inadequate in Nick's embrace. Nick was beautiful with toned muscles and tanned skin and although David didn't think of himself as ugly, his gangly limbs and pale complexion wasn't exactly male-model material. He knew that Nick would be beautiful even as he grew older, because inside of him was a compassionate soul, something that would keep him young forever.

David swallowed as Nick gently rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, silently peppering kisses on his neck, slowly edging his jaw line with a mix of both affection and desperation. David's heart quickened as he felt Nick's hot breath ghost over his shoulder and the technician idly wondered whether Nick could feel how quickly his heart was racing. Maybe he could, because Nick stopped at his chest and placed a soft kiss slightly to the left where he thought his chest would break.

He wanted to protest, because they had only been on one date and he had never abandoned all reason before. He had never just slept with a stranger, although Nick certainly wasn't a stranger. As a matter of fact, David felt as though he knew him through and through, but that had to just be wishful thinking on his part.

His hands flexed and finally flattened his palms against Nick's shoulder blades as the Texan moved up, leaving a trail of kisses as he went, his destination being David's lips. He made that destination in record time, pressing their lips together, nibbling until their tongues met, so different than from yesterday. David wanted to explain that he had never felt like this, that it was all of these feelings were brand new to him, but instead he closed his eyes and allowed Nick to worship his mouth. At least, that's what it felt like he was doing. The way he would touch him, as if reverent, was a completely new sensation.

"Nick," he whispered, hoping his voice didn't portray his need. He didn't want to stop, but he had to be logical about this. He shifted slightly, as if trying to break away when it all he managed to do was somehow fit their bodies together.

"Nick, we've- we've only had one date."

He didn't need to explain the meaning behind his words. Nick smiled above him, tracing the contour of David's jaw. "I know," he whispered. "It's okay if you don't want to do this."

David grasped for words, trying to ignore his growing desire and the way the Texan looked on top of him, so innocent when fully clothed.

"It's not… I just don't want you to think that I jump the first guy who offers."

Nick laughed, cupping David's face and giving him a quick kiss. "I know that, Dave. I just… I like making sure you're here. I was so crazy while you were in that house. I could barely see right, I was close to getting sick."

He sighed, the memory making him frown, his eyes portraying his previous worry and pain. However, he expertly hid these emotion under his bright smile. "Tell you what," Nick said, removing himself from David and standing back up. "How about I finish up in the kitchen and you catch some sleep?"

Personally, David didn't like this change; he was suddenly cold again, missing the weight and instantly regretting his delicate protest to their would-have-been lovemaking. God, he was a stupid, stupid man.

"Sleep? If you think I'm letting my guard down for one second, you're out of your mind."

Nick smiled and reached over for David's hand, giving it a squeeze. "It was the same for me after Nigel Crane. Guns do that to people."

David relished the contact, intent to stretch out these last few minutes with Nick for as long as he could.

"Did you have nightmares?"

"Hell yes. For weeks. It wasn't my finest hour, but you eventually accept it and move on. It's easy to get caught up in the fact that you could have died instead of remembering that you didn't."

"As comforting and wise as those words were, I still don't think that's going to help me sleep."

"Do you want me to stay?" Nick asked, his concern absolutely genuine. "I can sleep on the couch. It won't be any trouble. I think you have some spare blankets in your hallway closet."

David had to smile at his indisputable honesty and apprehension. He'd bet money that Nick's nose would grow if he ever told a lie; a man who came from a family of lawyers shouldn't be so… _nice._

"I don't want you to sleep on the couch," the technician replied, trying not to burst into joyous song when he saw the slight disappointment in Nick's eyes.

"Okay, that's fine. I'll leave if you feel like you can handle it. I was only saying that a lot of people are a little unnerved after a day like today and I didn't want you to feel like-''

"I don't want you to sleep on the _couch_," David repeated, emphasizing his point before he reached up and turned out his bedroom light.

Three minutes later, he was falling asleep in the dark, lulled by the scent of Nick's cologne, the warmth of his body beside him, and the consistency of his beating heart.

_You take me in  
__No questions asked.  
__You strip away the ugliness  
__That surrounds me.  
__Are you an angel?  
__Am I already that gone?  
__I only hope that I won't disappoint you_.

_Sweet Surrender_, Sarah McLachlan

TBC.


	11. Wherein There’s a Short Interlude

A/T: Yeah, I know. It gets better.

Disclaimer: Not mine! Never has been, never will be, but thoust cannot take away my dreams!

Snapshots  
Act 10 1/2: Wherein There's a Short Interlude and Greg Gets His Mail

**7:45 - Greg's driveway**

Greg knew he was a genius. Knew he was a rock star. Knew he was a mad scientist just waiting to happen.

But he never, _ever_ claimed to have common sense, y'know?

So as he prepared for work the next evening, it occurred to him that he had forgotten to check his snail mail the morning before. David's close call, Jacqui's anger, his own fear… none of it helped him concentrate, and thus the bills had been left in his mailbox overnight. When he finally remembered to grab it on his way out, he had been prepared to toss the stack in the passenger's seat for later.

But how does one ignore an orange envelope?

It was thick and square with loopy handwriting on the front, and you just _can't_ ignore bulky orange envelopes with crazy handwriting.

It looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn't until he saw the return address that he realized it was from Daphne herself. He switched his car's ignition off, not having even left his driveway, as he was much more interested in what his friend's package contained. He hurriedly ripped it open, never one for suspense, and an entire pile of photos dumped onto his lap.

They were mostly from David's birthday party, and Greg made a mental note to send Daphne a huge thank you. He had to laugh at the pictures that had caught the Sesame Street plates and Star Trek cups, the carrot juice and fabulous banana cake. However, there was one snapshot he didn't quite recognize; David was wearing a shirt Greg hadn't seen before and Nick was standing next to them in what appeared to be the second floor of the Sahara Apartment Complex. They both looked a little nervous and anxious and…

Greg broke out into a huge grin.

It wasn't from the party; instead, it was from their first date.

Nicky _definitely_ needed to see this picture.


	12. Wherein All Is Well

A/T: Wow. It's the 11th chapter and I have a feeling things will be wrapping up soon. As CatStokes asked, "How many more chapters?", I had to ask myself the same thing. Our favorite quintet (or quartet, considering Bobby can't be in the know) shall continue in their matchmaking quest, David and Nick shall go on their second date, but I can't seem to think of anything other than that. Ideas, no matter how ridiculous (short of sending our boys into space, of course) will be welcomed and considered. I'm thinking it'll only be 2 or 3 more chapters until I put this baby to rest.

Sorry, there isn't much David/Nick in here. I'm just trying to tie up loose ends, but I promise chapter 12 shall have much smoochy goodness to offer. :D

Disclaimer: Most certainly not mine. However, I like to believe that people like Mr. Bruckheimer and Mr. Zuicker got their start by typing on a hand-me-down PC (oh, but I how I love it! hugs computer) in the corner of their bedroom, filled with big dreams. If they did, then there's hope for all of us!

Snapshots  
Act 11: Wherein All Is Well and the Restaurant Murders Are Finally Closed

**Twenty minutes later - Nick's locker**

"So what, is this going to become a tradition?"

"I swear Warrick, I'll seriously-''

"Oh, come on. I already know about you guys. Besides, it's just a picture."

"Yeah, but you _taunt_. I hate taunting."

"It's not taunting, Nicky. It's friendly ribbing."

"Tell that to my bruised ribs."

"So where was this taken? And I've never seen Hodges in this shirt before. Did he go shopping just for you?"

"Rick, I'm two seconds away from-''

"Threat, nag, whine. Yeah, I get the drill. So what is this, you first date?" Pause. "A_ha._ It _is_ your first date!"

"Warrick, what happened to your decency?"

"Never was born with it, man."

"I can vouch for that."

"Hilarious. So you've only been on one date? 'Cause that's some poor timing, bro."

"He'll forgive me. I don't think he's much of a date person."

"Dating requires social skills, so I'm not surprised. And wipe that smile off your face."

"Why should I? I thought you liked taunting me."

"I do, but you're looking too happy right now. I mean, it's _Hodges."_

"His name's David."

"Yeah, well, I'm not dating him. He'll always be 'Hodges' until otherwise noted."

"Only those who've known him for years or date him can call him David, so he'll be 'Hodges' to you forever."

"Possessive much? And seriously, ditch the smile. You're freaking me out."

"What, is it too lecherous?"

"Um, is 'hell yes' clear enough for you?"

"You don't find him the least bit attractive?"

"Pleading the fifth, dude."

"But he's-''

"_Don't_ go there. Whatever you do outside of work is fine, but I'm begging you not to give me details."

"Y'know, Jacqui's practically drooling to hear this stuff."

"She ain't wound too tight either."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not about to go spill the intimate-''

"_Ew."_

"-details of my life. Now quit being such a baby and give me back my picture."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"You're hanging it up inside your locker? You've never done that with the other ones."

"We weren't dating then. We are now. It's only logical, Rick."

"Huh. You're really crazy about him, aren't you?"

Nick's smile only grew.

…

Jacqui hadn't gotten much sleep that day. She awoke with a headache born from both her crying and lack of rest, dressed in the first thing she saw in her closet (a wrinkled white blouse and black skirt), skipped breakfast due to lack of hunger, and smeared on the most basic of cosmetics. She made a move to get into her shoes until she realized she had yet to slip on her panty hose, but the thought made her start tearing up again, and she was sick of that.

Ridiculous. They were _stockings_, for crying out loud. Nevertheless, they still reminded her of David. Just a week ago, he had stolen her only spare pair to help Nick. Would strange things always remind her of him, like goats and Coke cans and bottles of Tabasco sauce?

She knew they would and, even more, she knew she was being unreasonable. David hadn't _died_, but he had been terribly close. He just blew it off and told her he was okay; didn't he understand that he would have left her and Ronnie, Archie and Bobby, Nick and Daphne torn in the wake of his death? She was his best friend and loved him deeply; it pissed her off that he would be so flippant. However, her fear overrode that anger and she had gone home the night before, blinded by tears, and cried in front of her television until she dragged herself to bed, knowing she'd only toss and turn, visited by nightmares where David was actually shot.

She felt decades older than she actually was when she heaved herself into work that evening. Everyone else was acting the exact same, as if David's life hadn't been in peril the night before. Didn't they care? Frowning, she made her way towards the lab, ignoring the few looks she received.

She bypassed Archie, Ronnie, and Bobby. She wasn't in much of a mood to talk, but it warmed her to know they were worried about how she was faring.

She didn't notice the man sitting in her lab (looking back, she knew she should have. The walls were glass, after all.) until she had entered, grabbed herself a pair of gloves, and turned towards her trusty computer. However, the screen was partially obstructed by a certain trace technician whose expression was one of (if she wasn't mistaken) worry.

"Oh," she lamely greeted, uncertain of what to say and taken by surprise. "Hey. I didn't notice you."

"I'm sure you didn't," he replied. "Those glass walls are a bitch to see through."

She frowned before spinning towards her Inbox of evidence, angrily ignoring him. He had nearly died and all he could be was sarcastic? She grabbed the first file before stalking towards the microscope. If he wanted to be that way, then that was just fine with her. She didn't care. At least, she could pretend not to. Maybe that would get the message across.

David grimaced, watching his friend sort through the files in an irate manner. In truth, he didn't know what to say. He just wanted her to _talk_ to him again; twelve hours without Jacqui was a strange span of time and it was disconcerting to know that she was upset enough not to give him the time of day. Did she expect him to break down? Or somehow take it all back? He couldn't do either of those things, but he could try to understand her position. However, understanding usually required explaining, which Jacqui had yet to do. Maybe he could get some enlightenment in exchange for an apology. He wasn't apologizing for almost getting shot, because that was out of his control… but he _was_ sorry that he didn't understand what she was trying to tell him.

"I'm sorry, Jacq. I don't know what to say."

"You say the most when you say nothing at all," she replied, her voice clipped and her motions jerky.

"You've got to help me," he explained, rising from his seat and walking towards her. "I don't know what you're angry _about_. You wouldn't answer any of my calls."

"I was asleep."

"Do phones stop working when we're sawing logs?"

"I turned the ringer off."

"Jacqui, listen, just tell me what's on your mind."

"I don't feel like talking, David."

"Jacq-''

"Fine," she snapped, slamming her hands against the table and whirling around to face the startled man. "Fine! Want to know what I'm so upset about? I'm upset with _you_. You could be on Doc Robbins's table right now with a pretty Y incision on your chest, but do you care? Do you care that you would've left all your friends behind? _No_. You treat it like it was nothing!"

David took a breath before exhaling. He had no idea she felt this way. Well, he had an _idea_, but for someone to _care_ so much about him was still foreign and strange. He oftentimes tried to convince himself that no one really worried about his well being; after all, he didn't want to be let down when his suspicions proved to be true. In L.A., he didn't have a single friend, but Las Vegas was different. Jacqui had pulled him into the group, showing him around, taking him to lunch, introducing him to the rest of the lab rats. They made him feel like he belonged and that was almost impossible.

"Jacqui," he began, hesitant as to what to say. He yearned to tread carefully, but he had never been good at being subtle. "We can't timeline our lives. Either it's our time or it isn't, but I got lucky yesterday. It's enough, don't you think?"

She shook her head, standing in the middle of her print lab, looking trodden. She sniffled and he realized with rising alarm that she was _crying_. Ho boy. He wasn't good with crying people, especially females. Where was Nick when you needed him? The man could handle a weeping woman with one hand tied behind his back and a sweet word. David could offer a tissue and then sit in awkward silence. As it was, he didn't even have the tissue.

"It's just," she said, her words hitched between sobs. "You're my best friend and I love you. I was so scared when Catherine told me what happened."

"C'mere," he ushered. Surprisingly enough, she obliged, shuffling towards him. He wound his arms around her waist and bestowed her with something so few received from him: a hug. She sniffled again but returned it with earnest.

"First of all, I'm not dead. I'm fine. I'm standing here while you get mascara all over my coat and I'm not even complaining about it."

She laughed but didn't let him go. "Second of all, we get so involved in the fact that we could've died that we forget we didn't. I learned my lesson. I'll be more careful with everything I do, but I promise that I really am okay and you'll be getting sick of me in a few days."

She laughed again, her voice thick with weeping-induced congestion. He was sure that (along with the mascara) there was going to be some snot as well, but he found that he didn't mind.

"And third of all, you're crying, which is weird and a little scary because I've never seen you do it before."

"There was the time I lost my mom's earrings."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

She disentangled herself and shook her head, wiping her eyes with the hem of her sleeves. "I'm getting sick of you already, David."

He smiled before leaning over and kissing her forehead, a rare and loving gesture. "Good. Then it'll be exactly like it was. Should I go steal something from your locker now or later?"

She laughed this time, genuine and relieved. "Preferably later, hose thief."

"Never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Does it cause you any amount of humiliation?"

"Yep."

"Then no, I won't."

"Ah, friendship. What more can I ask for?"

"Some charm?"

"I'm taking lessons from Nick. Does it show?"

She snickered. "Not even Nick can help you now, David. Oh, and I have some bad news."

"We're out of coffee?"

"No."

"Then bring it on."

She sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the table. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

"Our plan to get David and Bobby together," she replied, seemingly affronted that David didn't understand the meaning behind her vague words.

"We'll think of something," he reassured, throwing his right arm around her neck. "I know you have a million other plans in that head of yours."

She gave a soft laugh before resting her head on his shoulder, content to have her friend in one piece.

…

The interrogation room was dark and bland. David had seen it before, but had never really been inside, having no reason to even view an interrogation in his years of working at the lab. However, he found himself standing next to Greg, looking through the one-way window as Brass sat down across from Martin Porter, casually opening a file and crossing his ankle over his knee, as though he were going to have a friendly chat with a longtime friend.

"So, Martin," Brass nonchalantly began, Nick taking a seat beside him. "Quite a rap sheet you've got here. Assault, trespassing, instigating a riot."

Martin Porter looked like a normal man, but had a chilly edge around him if you took the moment to truly observe. His face was pleasant but held no emotion; his hair was groomed but far too perfect. He sat at the table, unmoving, refusing to speak.

"You got nothing to do in your spare time, Martin?" Brass asked, his tone one of utter relaxation. Martin's lawyer bristled in her seat, a blonde twenty something with an impassive expression and a frown set on her deceivingly sweet lips.

"My client feels as if he's doing God's work. Is that a crime?"

"It is, actually. Funny you should ask," Nick replied, leaning forward and looking the lawyer straight in the eyes. She didn't flinch, but her posture straightened. "He held a law enforcement officer hostage and murdered thirteen people. That doesn't constitute as holy labor."

"You'll have a difficult time proving that. It took you a full week to clean up the scene," she responded, flipping blonde strands behind her shoulder. "Evidence is easily contaminated in that long of a period."

"With all due respect, ma'am, we had CSIs there twenty four seven. Day shift, swing shift, and graveyard. Every print and every trace was taken and analyzed. Your client isn't going anywhere."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Mister Stokes. From what I understand, the law enforcement officer my client allegedly threatened wasn't even supposed to be there."

"Ms. Cox, is it?" Brass interjected, lifting a heavy brow. "Your client was seen holding a gun to David Hodges's head. Attempted murder gets quite a sentence."

"He was under mental duress."

"Ah, the insanity charge," Brass sighed, now sporting a grim smile. "Our favorite."

"Mister Porter, according to our records, you worked for Paradise Tours. You drove a bus, right?" Nick asked, his voice direct and somehow still informal. Martin, not a man of many words, simply nodded.

"And is that where you found your victims?"

"They weren't victims," Martin calmly replied as Ms. Cox swiveled her head to her left, hiding her shock in a poor manner.

"Martin, I would advice you _not_ to talk," she muttered, turning back to Nick and Brass, her head held high. "He's still shaken from yesterday. Anything he says can't be taken to heart."

"They deserved what they had coming to them," Martin explained, rolling his eyes at the transparent excuse she was trying to get away with. "I could tell by their appearance and accent that they were Russian."

"So what prompted you to pull the freezer stunt?" Brass queried. "Heat of the moment?"

"Purifying our race is going to be difficult," Martin snapped, sending a cold, unfeeling glare towards the police Captain. "I kept the bodies as proof to my group that I had done it. I passed that shitty restaurant on my route every single night. It didn't take a genius to know it would be the perfect place to store my verification."

"A group? So there's more of you?"

Martin sealed his lips and leaned back into his chair, allowing a quiet span of time to pass. It seemed as though he wasn't planning to speak again until he asked, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"As disgusting as I find you to be, Martin," Brass replied, "It's my _job_ to know. So what, is it a cult thing?"

"This interview's over," Ms. Cox barked, slamming her leather briefcase shut. "He was clearly unstable at the time. He needs help, not jail time."

"Yeah, that's the thing," Nick replied, returning the look ten-fold. David had to give him mental points for that; there was no way in hell Nick was going to let a lawyer stomp all over him. "I hope you go to court with that excuse and then I hope you choke on it. Your client calculated every move he made, Ms. Cox. He chose his victims by their ethnicity and then he killed without a second thought. This is the Las Vegas crime lab, ma'am, and we're going to do everything in our power to make sure your client gets thrown in prison for the rest of his miserable life."

"That's bias," Martin declared, rising from his seat in a threatening manner, as if he honestly thought he could take Nick on in a building swarming with trained uniforms.

"No, it's a guarantee," Nick replied, his tone cool and concrete. "See you in court."

As David and Greg watched an officer escort Martin Porter and his prissy lawyer back to his holding cell, Greg leaned to his right, whispering, "They say people like Porter have souls."

"Sanders, people like him are either completely soulless or we've misunderstood what a soul is. Anyone with a shred of conscious shouldn't find it so easy to kill thirteen strangers and store them away like hamburger," David replied as they watched Brass rise from his chair, give Nicky a tired pat on the shoulder, and leave the Texan alone in the interrogation room, the file still open as he stared at the wall in front of him. David wanted to be in the room as well, only without anyone watching. He wanted to talk to Nick without being overheard, to touch him without the entire lab speculating as to what it might mean.

"Maybe it's just science," Greg replied, shrugging. "Bodies are just bodies. Maybe ending a life isn't as hard as it looks."

"I'm willing to try that theory on you."

Greg scoffed. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your insults are expected. Nice try, Davey."

"Call me that again and your coffee won't live to see the sunrise."

They both should have left by then, but David was rather transfixed on a certain CSI who was tiredly rubbing his eyes and closing the case file that lay before him. Greg glanced at the technician standing next to him before peering back through the glass. Nick looked exhausted, that was for certain.

"Yesterday, he was so worried about you," Greg murmured, sending the Texan a frown as he bit his right thumbnail, a habit David had been trying to break him of for years. Nick, still oblivious to his audience, stood up and pushed the chair back into its previous place underneath the table. "In all the hustle and bustle, he just looked really scared."

David let out a soft laugh, pressing his fingers against the glass, wishing he was with Nick so he could just touch, just make sure that it was all real. "Well, he has that kind of heart. I think he'd worry about me even if he hated my guts."

"You shouldn't belittle his feelings towards you, David. I've seen him with his old girlfriends, but you're different. The way he treats you, looks at you; it's all there."

"Since when did you become such a love expert?" David queried, hoping to veer Greg off the heavy topic. Greg, however, was never one to be deferred.

"Since I saw you two together," the young man promptly replied before falling silent.

…

David was almost –_almost_- ashamed to admit he had forgotten about Daphne's phone call from a few days earlier, telling him about the date that Carter had proposed. So when she showed up after he had gotten off of work, dressed in what appeared to be normal clothing, he had been alarmed. After all, Daphne was to fashion what Greg was to intelligence, so the mental equation wasn't making much sense.

"Hey," she said, her voice lacking its usual certainty as she stood in his doorway, scratching the back of her neck apprehensively. "Can I come in? Or are you feeling badly? 'Cause I can take a hint and go back to my apartment pronto."

David sighed, truly not understanding women. He told them he honestly wasn't traumatized by yesterday's events, but they didn't seem to believe him. Either way, she was steered inside; he had just gotten off of work and it was only in between that span of clocking out and conking out that he would be awake enough to listen anyway. It was either pay attention now or try and decipher a rushed message on his machine the next day; needless to say, the former was a much more preferable option.

"I'll only let you come in if you swear to stop asking me that," he replied as he closed the door behind him. "It's almost as if you guys _want_ me to be scarred for life."

"Alright," she conceded, holding up her hands in surrender, a bit unsteady in her tiny heels as she turned to face him in the middle of the living room. "If you say you're okay, then you're okay."

"That's what I've been saying for the past twenty-four hours."

"I was too shocked to care what you said."

"Too shocked to care? I was the _victim_, Daph. Need I remind you?"

She quickly shook her head. "That's a negative, Dave. Anyway, I know you're perfectly healthy if the tone in your voice is any indication."

"Trust me, it's an indication. As a matter of fact, we're leaving this subject alone. Forever. Burying it in the back of our minds along with our algebra lessons from middle school."

"I was great at algebra."

"I knew you were a freak when I first met you."

"Takes one to know one."

David opened his mouth to retort, but she quickly waved her hand to silence him, as if she didn't have time for their trade of wits. She seemed nervous and looked a bit sick as well. "David, I promise you can insult me all you want tomorrow, but I need your opinion. I'm going out with Dexter today, remember?"

"That's today?" he asked, trying to flip through his mental calendar. "Daphne, why didn't you remind me? I would have… I don't know, helped you pick out a dress or something."

"More like made fun of every piece of clothing in my closet," she retorted, smiling. "It's what you do."

"It's my way of showing that I care."

Daphne snickered at the words before shaking her head quickly, as though reminding herself that there was no time for games. "I didn't want to bother you after what happened-''

"It's buried, remember?"

"Fine, I won't talk about it anymore. But just tell me how I look, okay? What do you think of the belt? Does it match my shoes?"

She was wearing a lime green camisole with glittery crystals at the top (he had been told blouses like that were all the rage, but he wouldn't know first-hand.) A sky blue shrug went over it, and a patterned skirt fell below her knees, boasting a sparkling, India-inspired belt. Her shoes were new; they were also blue with flowers on the top and a tiny heel with which she had minimal difficulty. Her long necklace reached down to her stomach, dazzling under the lights. Combined with the extra effort she had put into her makeup, the bead purse with which she clutched with a bit too much force, and the hair that probably took at least one full bottle of hairspray and gel to tame, she looked very… well, normal. It was disconcerting. Where was the plaid? She _always _wore plaid.

"You look very… nice," he said. She stared at him for a long moment, as though offended, and then groaned, flopping onto his couch in what appeared to be despair.

"Nice?" she echoed, her voice rising an octave or three. "_Nice?_ These clothes are brand new, David! I've been getting ready for an hour and a half! I just look _nice?_"

"Spectacular? Stunning?"

"No, just _nice_. Oh my Lord, this is it! Seven minutes until we're supposed to leave and I look _nice_."

"Daph, I'm not good with compliments."

"No, but you're good with the blunt truth. All that time spent in front of a mirror and all I look like is _nice?_"

"Daphne, relax. It's just Cart-''

"_Dexter_."

"The guy who won't throw out his own trash," David amended. "I'm almost insulted that you would date the enemy anyway. What happened to our volcano and island savages? It was a great plan."

Apparently, Daphne wasn't listening. She had hopped up from her spot on the couch, biting an un-manicured nail as she paced back and forth in David's living room, almost stumbling in her foreign shoes. David could tell that he had really messed it up this time; she was in alarm mode and he needed the advice of someone who actually _understood_ women, who was sweet and charming and who could get him out of this mess unscathed.

So, of course, Nick instantly came to mind.

However, he needed a way to call him without her knowing. David had a feeling he wouldn't be able to go anywhere without her following, demanding to know what made her look "nice" as opposed to "amazing". The only place she wouldn't follow would be the shower; then again, he wouldn't put it past her to stand in his bathroom's doorway, insisting that he shovel over the answers while he shampooed his hair.

Well, it would be ridiculous to try and shower at that very moment. Maybe he could cleverly getaway through his infamous fire escape? No, she knew that trick. Maybe he could somehow knock her out? (Just to get her to stop pacing and chewing on her nail.) Huh. That sounded illegal. Maybe Ms. Rainey was the answer? Probably not the best idea; she'd most likely insist they all sit down for some cake and a calming DuranDuran album. Bernard? Well, he wasn't exactly Romance 101. Carter himself? Now that was just _suicidal_.

It appeared as though Nick was his only choice. He quickly turned, grabbed his wireless phone, and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" she called, panic seeping into her voice. "I'm having a crisis and you decide you need a bathroom break?"

"In the words of Greg Sanders," David replied, "When you gotta go, you gotta go."

He closed and locked the door behind him before dialing Nick's number, slightly surprised at himself that he even had it memorized. He wished there was more room to pace, but bathrooms were only so big, so he settled on leaning against the door as he listened to it ring once and then twice. Wait, Nick was home, right? He had to be. This was too big of an emergency for Nick to be doing something other than sitting in his house, waiting for David to call.

He nearly burst into a joyous _Riverdance_ jig when Nick answered on the third ring.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, it's me. I need help."

"_Help? What kind? Are you okay?"_

"Not sure yet," David replied, although he had to feel a bit bolstered by Nick's sincerity. "Anyway, what do you tell a woman after you've told her she looks nice?"

_"Wait, where are you? It sounds all-''_

"It echoes, I know. I'm hiding the bathroom."

"_You're hiding where?_"

"The bathroom, Nick, and she's going to get suspicious when it takes me twenty minutes to take a piss. Can you help me or not?"

_"I always loved your subtle ways with words."_

"Focus, Nick. Focus. My mortality's on the line."

"_Okay, well, you told her she looks nice, right?_" Nick asked, clearly perplexed by the entire conversation and just trying to keep up with the situation. "_What was the context?"_

"She's going on a date."

"_Right now?"_

"Yeah."

"_And you told her she looked _nice?"

David groaned; obviously, he had missed something. When did "nice" turn into an insult?

"Is that a taboo word with women? I was trying to give her a compliment."

"_No wonder it came out wrong,"_ Nick teased. "_You've never given a compliment before._"

"She's having a nervous breakdown in the middle of my living room. Mock later, help now."

"_Okay, let's see if we can salvage this. First things first: what does it look like she spent the most time on?"_

"Clothes."

"_Are they new?"_

"Down to the shoes."

_"Then point out how great the clothes look on her and mention you've never seen the shoes before, but you can't generalize it. They can't look nice. They have to remind you of something specific, like… I don't know. The color of a Tiffany box."_

"Tiffany? Like the store?"

_"Yeah, it's a girl thing. I don't get it either."_

"I think they're darker then that. Like cerulean."

_"See? You can do this."_

"You know, I think you could be on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy."

_"Dude, I grew up in Texas. Five sisters. Lots of dates. You learn things about ladies."_

"Right."

_"You had better stop poking fun at me. I'm trying to keep you from losing one of the two women in the world who find you tolerable."_

"Hey, I have priorities besides social status."

_"David, you're hiding in a bathroom in hopes that Daphne won't hate you forever. You don't have an upper hand here."_

"Fine, you win. Thanks. I owe you."

_"With dinner?"_

"This is an odd time to be asking for a date, isn't it?"

_"No time like the present."_

"Clichés aside, I accept. Where?"

_"My place tomorrow. Around eight?"_

"I-'' Wait, Nick's place? That wasn't a public area. And if David wasn't in a public area, then there was a good chance David would be tempted to jump the poor man right then and there.

_"David?"_

"Yeah, sure. That sounds great. See you tomorrow."

_"Good luck,"_ Nick laughed as the Texan ended the call, leaving David clutching his phone and wondering if he was going to be able to survive the next twenty-four hours. Sure, it was tempting to just hide away in his bathroom, but Daphne hadn't abandoned him on his first date with Nick, and it would be wrong (although so very tempting) not to do the same. And if he lived through Daphne's breakdown, he still had dinner with Nick tomorrow, at his house. That would certainly be the end of him.

He flushed the toilet for realism and ran the water, as though washing his hands, before quietly opening the door and sticking his head out. Well, she wasn't waiting for him in the hallway, at least.

He crept towards the living room and took another peek, watching as she continued her pacing, still biting that blasted nail. Maybe he had been spending too much time with Mia, but didn't people know that biting your nails gave your worms? Bad habits aside, he had a bigger problem. He took a breath and went through the mental steps.

Step one: Make sure she hadn't worn a hole in his floor.

One glance at the floor told him that the damage to his carpet was minimum.

Step two: Note clothing.

"Okay, where were we?" he asked, calmly walking back into the living room as she turned towards him, her expression grim. He hoped his composed demeanor hid his… well, absolute terror. "Right, I was trying to shower you with compliments."

"_Trying_ being the key word," she replied, placing her hands on her hips.

He blatantly ignored her comment, giving her a once over before turning and walking towards his bedroom. She was quick to follow.

"By the way, I think I saw that belt in…" What was one of the fashion magazines? What had Jacqui been reading that afternoon? Thinkthink_think_! It was pink and had a blonde chick on it. Fortunate? Privileged? "Lucky," he finished, praying that Daphne had heard of the magazine and that he had gotten the title correct.

To his relief, she had.

"Really?" she asked, brightening. "Well, it's a knock off, but I saw one like this for two hundred dollar in last month's issue. Two _hundred_. Can you imagine? Naturally, I bought all of this at Stacey's Natural Boutique."

"Of course. Made in America, no child labor."

"Don't mock me. It's an important cause."

"I'd never mock the cause, just your taste in clothing."

"You mean what I'm wearing right now?" she asked, her tone morphing back into its original worried state. "Is it bad?"

Well, _crap_. That's the last thing he had intended.

"Actually, I'd mock everything _except_ what you're wearing today. It matches. And would you just trust me on this? You look really…"

"Say 'nice' and I'll kill you."

"So where are you going out tonight?" he asked, turning towards his desk and forgoing the compliments. He couldn't waste time boosting her shattered confidence when he had a camera to find; he began to go through his "stuff I don't know what do with" drawer. There was a Polaroid in there. Somewhere. Maybe.

"An art gallery and lunch," she replied, frowning and fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

"Sounds like fun."

"It is."

"You still don't look really enthused about it."

"I guess I'm… nervous, you know? Remember you and Nick?"

"It wasn't that bad."

"David, you tried to climb out of the fire escape."

"It was the heat of the moment."

"So what, you can have panic attacks but I can't? That's sexism."

"That's me being unfair based on gender. It's two very different things."

She gave a short laugh but didn't comment. He paused in his shuffling before letting out a sigh. He supposed this was the part where he became over-protective; he was usually bad at this sort of thing, but it was beginning to come easily. Obviously, he blamed his co-workers for the previously nonexistent trait. If he didn't hang around such caring people, he wouldn't be so damn concerned about her and Jacqui's safety all the time.

"If you need anything, call. I don't care what time it is," he muttered, beginning his previous task of sorting out the drawer.

"David, Dexter's hardly going to try and assault me or something."

"I work in a crime lab, Daph. No one _plans_ on getting assaulted."

"Okay, okay. I'll be careful."

"If he tries to make an unwanted advance, stab him in the toe with that heel of yours. Then call Jacqui. She knows a little karate."

"Dave-''

"If he makes you pay for your meal, then a second date isn't an option."

"David, I go-''

"And it's always good to carry a can of Mace and a charged cell phone. Considering we don't have any Mace, make sure your phone's working so you can call out for help. If that doesn't work, start screaming. You've got tuba lungs, so utilize them."

"David Hodges, I und-''

"Oh, I almost forgot. Have a good time. Now smile."

"What? David, no!"

It was too late: he had already snapped the photo, the bright flash making Daphne take a step back and try to clear the floating dots that danced in front of her eyes.

"I wasn't ready!" she protested, scandalized as a square, white-bordered photo slid out from the slot in the camera. Sure, digital camera were great, as were your basic Kodaks, but there was nothing more gratifying than instant humiliation on film. Need only add a small shake, some light, and voila! Embarrassing first-date jitters captured forever.

He gave her a smug smile. "Payback never tasted so sweet."

Twenty minutes later, he locked the door, checked to make sure he had turned off his oven, fed Nana and gave her a scratch behind the ears, and went to bed, intent to sleep for as long as he could.

It wasn't as comfortable as the morning before where Nick had slept beside him.

_How much longer will it take to cure this?  
__Just to cure it cause I can't ignore it if it's love  
__Makes me wanna turn around and face me but I don't know nothing 'bout love_.

_-Accidentally in Love_, Counting Crows

TBC.

A/T: Chapter 12 on its way! My promise: smoochiness. And _everyone_ love smoochiness. :D


	13. Wherein There Are Coconuts

A/T: Wow. It's the next-to-the-last-chapter. It feels so darn weird! I almost didn't write this story in the first place, so who knew I would ever reach the ending?

If this chapter rocks, then send me praise and awe. If it stinks, then blame The Sarcastic Typo. And the sweater thing is blamed on vixcintric. I fell in love with the sweater-thing because of her!

Disclaimer: So-o not mine.

Snapshots  
Act 12: Wherein Drastic Measures Are Taken and There Are Coconuts

He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

Well, he could, but that wasn't the point.

David sighed as he waited in the break room, the lunch hour only a minute or two away. He briefly wondered how in the world he had drawn the short straw (because wasn't the rule of odds supposed to take effect at some point? Was it really possible that he was always the loser? Maybe the straws had some sort of vendetta against him. Next time, they were picking names out of a hat. Unless, of course, the hat had a vendetta against him as well. David would go from suspicious to scared, because inanimate objects weren't _supposed_ to have vendettas.)

David restlessly shifted in his seat, hoping none of the CSIs wandered in anytime soon. They would inevitably ask him to run this or that; they obviously didn't understand that the lab rats were up to something and couldn't be bothered with matters as trivial as murder. Grissom might even inquire as to why Jacqui wasn't slaving over prints, but he, like everyone else, underestimated her determination to couple up everyone she knew. She would not eat, sleep, or relax until Bobby and David Phillips were dating.

And if _she_ couldn't eat, sleep, or relax until they were together, then neither could anyone else.

For what felt like the millionth time, David checked the wall clock while running the plot over in his head. Jacqui had been very specific about what was going to go down: David Phillips would meet "them" for lunch as was the growing custom, but Jacqui and the rest of the group weren't actually going to _be_ there. As a matter of fact, they were going to keep Bobby busy with something in his own lab at the other end of the building. David would give the coroner an excuse as to why they were late and then subtly (Subtle? Could he _be_ subtle?) broach the subject of dating and Bobby.

Sure, it was a barebones scheme, but they were dealing with two thickheaded individuals.

David was shoved from his thoughts when the door opened, revealing David Phillips and his usual peanut butter and banana sandwich. If anything, you had to love the comfort of routine.

"Hey Super Dave," David greeted, sending a quick (and possibly fixed, but who knew?) smile from his place at the table.

"Hello," the coroner returned. "Sorry I'm late. We just finished taking apart Charlie Ebons's brain. Had to find a bullet."

Huh. David idly wondered what it would be like to have normal friends, ones that droned on and on about accounting or something.

"That's… nice."

"It wasn't, really. Al made a pretty deep cut and it kinda got everywhere."

"You mean bits of brain…?"

The other man somberly nodded. "Most of it got on my scrubs though, so-''

"_Most_ of it? Where's the rest of it?"

The other man shrugged. "Some got on my shoe, but I'm pretty sure I got it all off."

David blanched; most things didn't squick him. He'd been there when his sister gave birth, he had seen every horror movie known to man, and he worked in a crime lab, having been witness to each unspeakable crime out there. But to be sitting across from a man that might possibly have pieces of brain on his shoe was- was-

David Phillips grinned. "You can calm down. I was only joking."

"Calm down? I'm calm. What makes you think I'm not calm?"

"You're looking like a frog, for one."

"Frog?"

"Wide eyes, slightly green, kind of clammy-''

"Bits of brain being stuck to the underside of my sneaker doesn't thrill me," David evenly replied. "They're _brains_. Most people have bubblegum or toilet paper caught to the bottom of their shoe, but _you_ have part of Mr. Ebons's frontal lobe."

The coroner shrugged. "Brains are cool," he replied. "Besides, it's just matter. It's like… Jello or pudding or something."

David merely sighed in response. "I need friends outside of work," he muttered. "And now I don't want to ever eat Jello or pudding again."

"Actually, the human brain is more like firm jelly," the coroner amiably replied, as though talking about the weather. "And from what I hear, it took you a while to get the friends you already have."

David shot the other man a steely look. "For someone who has yet to be fully introduced to lab rat culture, you're pretty sure of yourself. And now I don't want jelly anymore, either. If you make anymore organ/food comparisons, I'm seriously giving up eating."

David Phillips grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "From what Jacqui tells me, I'm already an honorary lab rat. By the way, where is everyone? Hard at work? It's not like them to miss their lunch break."

The technician took a deep breath. He almost preferred to go back to the brain conversation as opposed his mission at hand. If Jacqui wanted to see a relationship flourish, why didn't _she_ do the dirty work? Sending in someone like David was relationship suicide; the only reason he'd been so successful with Nick was because the Texan was patient and understanding.

"Actually, no. I was unfortunate enough to draw the short straw _again_, so it's my responsibility to get the ordeal over with."

The coroner blinked. "Why did you guys draw straws?"

David shook his head. This poor, naïve, _fortunate_ soul. He had the chance to _escape_; why choose to hang around a bunch of mentally unstable technicians? David momentarily imagined a life without drawing straws or Milky Ways or punishing swami hats. Things would be so normal and smooth and… well, boring.

But no one needed to know that.

"One day you'll understand, young grasshoppah. Right now, all you need to know is that Jacqui's tried everything. She tried faking letters. She tried hinting. She tried insinuating rumors. She even thought about shoving you two in the storage closet to see if confined spaces were-''

"Shoving _who_ in a closet?"

"You and Bobby," David replied. "Which brings me to this very conversation. It's been decided to abandon the entire 'subtle' approach and tell you upfront."

David now had an idea of what he had looked like a few moments ago, when the coroner was describing the physical consistency of the human brain. Indeed, David Phillips had gone rather green and then pale, his eyes were larger than a small moon circling Pluto, and he was looking clammy himself. David couldn't decide whether to taunt or boggle Super Dave's mind with even more information; in the end, he figured that taunting could be done anytime, anywhere. Having the opportunity to explain the whole dating thing to a man who spent his time with corpses came once in a blue moon.

"You've been trying to get Bobby and I together?" David asked, looking as though the trace technician had proposed they all grab a couple of drinks and then go streaking through the Strip.

" 'Trying' being the key word. So far, you've been painfully oblivious."

A motion caught David's eye; Jacqui was peering in through the wall behind Super Dave, the glass giving her a perfect view. Ronnie had joined her as well, scrutinizing them from behind his specs; David supposed Archie was the one condemned to sidetrack Bobby so that the bullet tech wouldn't walk in on this little charade. Either way, why were they watching in the first place? Didn't they trust him to pull this off? Had he _ever_ let them down before?

"Look, it's nice that you have Bobby's best interest at heart, but I'm not going to date him. He's my friend."

In the hallway, Jacqui was having an apoplexy. If David left it where it was, he knew his death warrant would be signed, sealed, and delivered. By this point, the blunt approach was the only one worth taking, because failure just wasn't an option. Not if he didn't want to have the swami hat glued to his head.

"You like him, right?"

The coroner sighed. "It doesn't matter. Listen, I better get back to work."

"Dave, you seem like a nice guy. From me to you, just ask Bobby out."

The coroner grew pale again and choked on nothing in particular. The technician winced; asphyxia due to Jacqui's insane romantic scheming wasn't totally unheard of.

"What did you say?" David asked, now a bright shade of stoplight.

"I said go for it. If he shoots you down, he's going to give you a pillow to land on. He's just that kind of guy."

"_If_ he shoots me down?"

"But I'm pretty sure he won't."

"I couldn't-''

"Unless you're physically incapable of speaking, then yes you can."

"But-''

"Why are we arguing about this?"

"I don't even know him that well. I mean, we've grabbed breakfast together a few times, but-''

"See? You've been dating and you don't even know it."

The coroner rose from his chair and stood his full height, but it was no use. David was still taller.

"I have a choice in the matter, don't you think?"

David stared at the other man for a moment before shaking his head, obviously amused at the defiant words. If the other man really wanted to be part of their group, then he was going to have to understand their form of government; Jacqui was president, queen, and goddess. There wasn't any way around that.

"Dave, Jacqui's involved in this. You have no choice. _No_ one has a choice. If it were up to me, do you think I'd be here?"

The man across from him heaved a suffering sigh and shook his head in response.

"You're a grown man and can handle your own relationships," David continued. "But as it is, if I fail to convince you to ask him out, Jacqui's going to chop my head off and use my brains for pâté."

"Sounds gourmet."

"I'd prefer to keep my brains, thank you very much."

"I want you to keep all your vital organs as well, but-''

"Appease her, I beg thee. Besides, Bobby likes you."

"Has he actually _said_ that?"

"Not in so many words, but we've known him for a long time. We can tell."

"Fine," the bespecled man said, not looking at all happy about the developments. David could tell he wasn't enthused about his imminent task, but he'd rather submit to it than continue with their current conversation. Truth be told, David was content with Super Dave's surrender. He wasn't sure how much more of Jacqui's strategies he could take before checking into the nut house. "I'll… I'll ask him today."

"When?"

"In five minutes, right after I deliver these reports to Grissom."

"I think Jacqui can wait that long. And if you think you can leave, I'll have you know that Archie's manning the front door and Ronnie's got the side."

"What is this, some sort of tactical maneuver?"

"No, this is Jacqui on a mission. The fear that's striking your heart as we speak is felt by men everywhere."

…

"Well, what'd you say? How'd he ask? I need details!"

Bobby froze at his place in front of the microscope before turning and giving the four of them an alarmed look, Jacqui especially. She had a frightening twinkle in her eyes that made all four men nervous. Of course, David couldn't blame Bobby; he had been working on a bullet fragment, intent with his assignment until the quartet had come busting through the doors simultaneously, startling Bobby and consequently tearing his concentration away from the striations.

"What are ya'll doing in my lab?" Bobby slowly asked, giving each tech a bewildered look before finally turning towards Ronnie, the only one who was ever sane enough to explain a situation in clarifying detail. "I don't think it's break ti-''

"Spare us the innocent act. I want a word-by-word account," Jacqui interjected, quickly approaching the other man with a predatory step.

"Of what, my bathroom break?"

"When David asked you out!"

Bobby turned towards the trace technician, clearly puzzled. "When you did what?"

David reached and smacked him upside the head, in no mood for games. Sure, a dazed and confused Bobby was amusing, but it was only cute for so long. Besides, David had worked far too vigorously over the past week and a half for Bobby and David Phillips to chicken out on them now.

"Not me, you moron. David _Phillips_!"

"Oh, well, that makes more- wait, David wants to ask me out? On a date?"

"Dude, don't try to play us. We're the ones who set it up," Archie announced, grinning. "You can drop the act."

"Wait, when did this happen?" Bobby inquired, all thoughts of bullet fragments now gone. "I don't get it. Was this yesterday? Who set what up?"

Ronnie twitched an eyebrow, sharing a dubious expression with Archie. "Either you're an incredible actor or Super Dave managed to elude our lookout."

But Jacqui wasn't as calm as Ronnie; as a matter of fact, she was seething. Ronnie, David, and Archie exchanged alarmed looks before taking a few cautious steps backwards. After all, Jacqui had been outsmarted somehow and that never sat well with her.

"That weasel much have used the backdoor! I never thought he'd slither away like that. Boys, it's time for Plan B!"

"We have a plan B?" Archie asked, raising his eyebrows.

Jacqui paused. "Not really, but we will in about five minutes. All I need is a typewriter, a rental car, and a courier dove."

Those weren't good words, because she actually _would _get anything to make a dating plan work. She refused to have her spotless matchmaking record sullied by a failed attempt. Ronnie, seeing the beginnings of even more ornate scheming, leaned in towards Bobby and murmured, "Please just ask him out already. She's got that glint in her eye."

"That's a dangerous glint," Bobby whispered in agreement. "The last time she looked like that, Chandra Moore was running out of the lab faster than Roadrunner."

"Chandra Moore had it coming," Jacqui replied. "You don't act like you run the lab when other techs have been here longer. Besides, she was child's play." There was a pause in her statement before she glanced at Bobby, a small frown tugging at her lips. "Of course, maybe I've gone a bit crazy. Do you even like him?" "Whoa. Are you actually giving Bobby a _choice_?" Archie asked, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline. "Silence, geek," she retorted before turning her attention back to Bobby. "Do you like him? You've never actually said one way or the other." "What a concept," David muttered. "Pairing two people who _like_ each other. Maybe that's the clue we've been missing all this time." 

"_Like_ him?" Bobby echoed, as though scandalized, completely ignoring David's tart observation. "Look at the shirt I'm wearing!"

"Thanks for clearing that up for us," Archie retorted, rolling his eyes. "After all, your shirt _completely_ gives away your feelings."

"I'm sayin' I look like a mess," Bobby replied, obviously unsettled by the thought of his coroner love interest seeing him in shambles.

"Bobby, the guy took apart a man's brain today. Your choice of clothing isn't going to make a difference," the trace technician replied. What was so hard about this?

"I know, but I want to make sure I'm wearing the right thing. You can just _spontaneously_ ask someone out. And I'll have to find a restaurant, the right day-''

Upon hearing these words, Jacqui reverted to her true self, turning to face the three men next to her. "Boys, we've done all we could," she announced. "I think it's time for drastic action."

"Drastic what?" Bobby asked, but was cut off when Ronnie grabbed the bullet tech's left arm and Archie grabbed the right. They manhandled him out of the lab and through the rarely used back hallway; Bobby immediately began to protest when he saw where they were going, but Ronnie was strong and Archie was insistent, so Bobby wasn't able to escape their iron grip by the time they arrived to the coroner's office. David was fortunate, needing only to follow them should Bobby somehow escape and try to turn back.

"This is for your own good," Archie offered in attempt to cut off Bobby's objection. "We want you to be happy, plus we want Jacqui off our backs, so it's a win/win."

Jacqui approached two double doors that read 'Coroner's Office' before theatrically throwing them open.

The quintet was met by a trio of inquisitive stares: Al Robbins, Nick Stokes, and David Phillips himself. They were crowding around the lifeless body of an unidentified male; David half expected the corpse to sit up and see what was going on as well. After all, it was a pretty bizarre scene.

"Hello boys!" Jacqui greeted as though this was a common occurrence. "You've got a visitor."

David Phillips, being the intelligent man that he was, appeared to understand what was going on and took a startled step back. He shook his head, trying to form words, but humiliation was forbidding acceptable means of communication.

"What are you all doing here?" Al asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is this in regard to the Ebons case?"

"No," Jacqui pleasantly replied. "We're just resolving some romantic tension. Trying to give Bobby a push in the right direction."

"That wasn't a push!" Bobby said, his voice rising to a higher octave altogether. "That was a violent shove!" "Your shock and surprise puzzles me," David intoned. "Did you honestly think Jacqui wouldn't do this? Because if you didn't, then it's time to wake up and smell the embalming fluid." "I didn't think I'd be physically dragged to the autopsy room!" 

"Bobby, she hired a stripper for my birthday last year. She has no shame."

"But-''

"Look, this isn't difficult. You like David, right?" Archie asked, giving Bobby and pointed look before jabbing his finger in the coroner's direction. Bobby turned a strange shade of red before squeaking and trying to reply.

"And you like Bobby," Ronnie said, turning towards David Phillips and speaking in a matter-of-fact voice. "It seems simple enough to me."

"Ronnie, I swear I'm going to-''

"Threaten me later. As it is, we're standing in the middle of a morgue. Not very romantic," Ronnie mused, looking around. "The stainless steel interior isn't doing much by way of mood."

"Neither are the corpses," Archie helpfully added.

"Or the sharp autopsy tools," David finished. "Kind of takes away the intimate vibe."

"So just to make sure we're clear," Jacqui said, "We've made two reservations at Swan's Court for tonight. You two will be going. If you have plans, break them."

"But-'' Bobby began, finally finding his voice. "Jacqui, I d-''

"You can thank us later," Jacqui said, cutting him off as she began towards the door, her duty now complete. "We were only too happy to help."

"I don't think that's what he was going to say," Archie said, laughter sparkling in his eyes as his smile lit up the room. "But what are a few disillusioned lies between friends? Oh, and Nick, I've got the surveillance footage when you're ready," he continued. "Jacqui's got your prints too."

"Hit in AFIS," she confirmed, Ronnie opening the door for her in his gentlemanly manner, Archie and David trailing behind. "If you're curious, you know where I am."

Nick nodded slowly as Al stood next to him, rather stunned himself. David doubted either man registered the words.

There was a silence as the four men stood motionless in the autopsy room. Al glanced at David Phillips who cast a nervous look at Bobby who was too humiliated to stare at anything but the floor. Nick's shock, on the other hand, was beginning to give way to amusement. The lab rats were certainly an insane group of people- to go so far to just get their two friends together? It was lunacy; a lunacy he was more than happy to be a part of.

The shocked silence didn't break until someone opened the door again.

Nick smiled as his boyfriend poked his head around the door. David observed the quiet room with blue eyes before pinning his gaze on Nick.

"Nicholas Stokes, if you get brain, organ, or any other part of the human body on your shoe, you aren't stepping foot on my carpet," he announced, pointing at the Texan before shutting the door behind him.

Nick's grin grew wider when the door opened again.

"And we're still on for today," David continued. "But I'm serious about the brain thing."

Close.

Pause.

Open.

"And Bobby, sorry about this whole fiasco. We tried to quell Jacqui, but she was set on doing this. Ronnie and Archie have offered to pay for whatever therapy you need."

"Hope they're ready to take out a second mortgage," Bobby replied, a hint of annoyance finally emerging. David grinned from his place behind the door.

"Good man," he said before leaving for good.

Al shook his head and started laughing.

…

This time, he wasn't nearly as nervous as he was on the night of his first date with Nick. He didn't even need to borrow clothes (even though Carter had given him the jeans from earlier, claiming they looked much better on David then they did on him.) David ended up wearing them, because they were a lot more comfortable than they looked, and then uncovered a black turtleneck sweater thing that Jacqui had bestowed upon him for Christmas two years ago. It was rarely worn, but he was willing to break out of the norm. Work shirt versus sweater… thing. He could live with that.

He was going to Nick's for dinner. He could also live with that. No one even knew; he had mentally prepared himself for this in advance, so there wasn't any need for a panic call. He grabbed his jacket, keys, cell phone, and bravery before locking the door behind him. He had given serious consideration to leaving via fire escape, but he supposed that if Daphne was peering out the peephole, waiting for him to pass by her door, then she had something important to say. Maybe he could one day teach her to just _knock_ when she wanted to talk about something. He wasn't going to bite her head off.

Well, he almost did once, but he had been in a bad mood. Shitty night, heartbreaking case. Oh yeah, he had also been accused of blowing up the lab. (Daphne, after catching wind of this, instantly forgave his temper.)

David knew he should have been surprised when her door swung open the moment he began towards the elevator, but Daphne's antics never shocked him anymore. He simply sighed instead, hoping Nick wouldn't mind that David was going to be a bit late. After all, conversations with Daphne were never short.

"Daph, how many times have I told you that staring through the peephole is creepy? Serial killers do things like that."

She paused a moment, actually considering both the question and the comparison, before responding. "I didn't know if you had a date, so I decided to be on the lookout. I knew you wouldn't tell me considering last week."

"When you told the entire floor I was going out to dinner? Yeah, sorry, you aren't getting any more details from me. Ever."

"So you admit you're heading out to see Nick? Judging by the duds, I'd have to agree. Nice shirt, by the way. It shows you off."

David was suddenly glad he had thrown on his jacket beforehand. He quickly slipped it on and zipped it up, shielding himself from her eyes. Did any of the women he knew have _any_ feministic manners?

"Do you _mind_?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, in that case, wear an oversized t-shirt. Your problems will be solved."

"Daphne, I know the concept I'm about to introduce is going to blow your mind, but bear with me. Most conversations have a _point_. Does this particular chat have a specific direction or are we just wasting oxygen?"

"Probably the latter, but has that ever stopped me before?" she asked, smiling as she shuffled out into the hallway, dressed in blue pajamas with yellow rubber ducks printed on various points. "I just wanted to tell you to have fun, okay? Tell me all about it when you get back. _If_ you get back."

David fought down the blush that was threatening to rise. What exactly was she implying? That he was going to sleep with Nick? That was just insanity.

"Also, I've been overcome with this strange sense of emotional-''

"God, are you… you know, cycling? Because I've got a bag of Hershey kisses in the kitchen and they're yours if you want them. Just don't start crying."

Daphne rolled her eyes, muttering something about men, before walking over to him and giving him an unexpected bear hug.

"I just want to tell you that you're one of my best friends and I'll always think you're the best guy ever."

"Most would wonder what you're on."

"Shut up and accept a compliment every once in a while, would you?"

"Daph," David began, prying her arms from around his waist, "You talk like you're planning to leave me."

"Leave you?" she echoed, disbelief coloring her words. "No way. Besides, you're the only one who'll fix my plumbing for free."

"If only to keep the brass monstrosity off my couch," David replied, ignoring the rush of relief that crashed over him. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he'd do if Daphne ever decided to find bigger and better things in life.

"Tubas are God's way of telling people he hasn't given up on the world of music. Remember that, David. Oh, and I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"DAVID'S LEAVING TO GO SEE NICK! EVERYONE WISH HIM LUCK!"

David jumped back in surprise before counteracting himself and nearly lunging for the woman in front of him. Before he was able to commit a homicidal act, most of the doors flew open and numerous heads stuck out, chorusing together, wishing David the best of luck. Bernard and Carter did the same, various words of "have fun" and "tell us about it" making David wish he lived in a cave on an island in the middle of nowhere. David physically cringed when Ms. Rainey followed suit.

"Don't forget to use protection, David," she ordered, the demand strange sounding coming from her innocent mind. (How innocent exactly? David planned on mulling that over later.) At the moment, he was beyond humiliated (but somehow unsurprised) and slunk towards the elevator, wishing the ground would just swallow him up.

…

When Nick opened his door, he expected to see David, but he didn't expect to see David _blushing_. Nick knew few things ever affected David like that, but one entity came to mind that made Nick pretty sure he knew what was going on.

"Either you've caught yourself a fever or you didn't escape your apartment unscathed," Nick noted, opening the door and allowing David entrance. David didn't reply at first, obviously disgruntled as he walked in, toed off his shoes, and headed straight towards the kitchen.

"She's the devil Nick, I swear it," David called as Nick laughed, shut the door behind him, and listened as the other man opened the refrigerator door and helped himself to a beer. "She sucks people into a safe bubble and then utterly betrays them."

"Considering Ms. Rainey isn't big on betrayal, I'm going to venture a guess and say you're referring to Daphne."

"Try _ranting_. She was telling me how I'm her best friend, how she'll never abandon me, etcetera, and then she _bellows_ that I'm leaving to come see you. The second floor has no life whatsoever. They all stampeded towards their door before I had the chance to escape."

"That sounds-''

"Humiliating and painful? It was."

"I was going to say 'amusing'."

"You realize that I hate you, right? And that this entire dating thing is just a clever ruse?"

Nick grinned as he joined David in the kitchen, dropping a kiss on the technician's lips before turning off the stove, having just finished cooking their dinner. He wasn't sure what David's favorite food was (looking back, he supposed that three years of working together should have given him some sort of hint), but he heard from Archie who heard from Ronnie who heard from Jacqui that David had a thing for Thai cuisine, so Nick decided to try his luck and found some decent looking recipes online.

"It's one hell of a ruse, then," he replied.

"I take pride in my cons," David retorted, shooting Nick a half smile. "But this is my best work so far."

Nick merely rolled his eyes good-naturedly and made a move to reply, but the mention of David's neighbors shifted his thoughts, forcing his mind to take a mental turn down a different road. "Speaking of Daphne, how'd her date go?"

"From the indecipherable message she left on my machine, she had a great time with Carter."

"Don't you mean Dexter?"

"Arg," David groaned; Nick's grin grew even wider when David made a face at the mention of his archenemy's name. "Don't make me call him that. He'll always be the guy who won't throw out his trash. He's _the_ Carter in 2L. Daphne and I were even planning to throw him into a live volcano on a savage-inhabited jungle island."

Nick snorted at the prompt words. "First of all, that's a pretty elaborate plan-''

"Elaborate, yes. Impossible? No. We even had the specific island in mind. Like I said, she's a traitor. Now that she's in this alleged relationship, she doesn't _want _to throw him into a lava pit. Ergo, you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"This relationship is just a clever ruse, remember? I'm merely leading you on so I can use you in my evil plot."

"To throw Dexter into a volcano?"

David let out an exaggerated sigh. "It's about time you caught on. For such a pretty face, you aren't particularly bright."

Nick honestly couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up inside of him. Back in Texas, the women he dated tried too hard, instantly agreeing with everything he said. None of them were very good at making conversation and when they did, it was mundane and boring. They were always sweet girls (whom his parents loved), but there wasn't the slightest spark between him and any of them. With David, it was completely different. He agreed only when he thought he should; if he _didn't _agree, then he wasn't going to pretend that the other person was right. Also, conversations between them were never dull. Ever. How many people could honestly say they conspired to throw their neighbor into a live volcano? Nick wouldn't bet many.

"This may sound a bit crazy, but have you ever thought to be happy for her?" Nick asked while he reached for two plates, watching as David grabbed a pair of glasses from another cabinet. They were setting the table together; it was an oddly comforting, domestic task. Nick mentally shook off the feeling of bewilderment. Who knew he'd ever share mornings like these with David Hodges? It felt like they had been thrown together by weird twists of coincidences, long strings of moments that collided with each other no matter how much they fought it in the beginning.

"Of course I have, but I choose not to be. Not until he lives up to my impossible standards."

"If they're impossible, then how can he reach them?"

"That's the entire point, Nick. Keep up."

"Right, sorry. It's difficult to understand your mindset."

"You're a smart guy, I'm sure you'll learn. What's worse is that she's floating on air-"

"That's _terrible._"

David, understanding that he was being mocked, shot Nick a cool glance before continuing on. "She's way too happy, she's watching too many romantic comedies even for her standards, and she's even trying to detach herself from that doll of hers."

"All that happiness must be physically painful for you."

"She played the tuba version of 'I've Got You Under My Skin' _fourteen times_ yesterday. Sinatra should be rolling over in his grave."

"I'm sure it was beautiful."

"Every time she started it again, I died a little inside."

"Well, she's falling in love. You've gotta give her some leniency."

"The whole 'love' process still baffles me, so I don't plan on giving her an ounce of mercy."

"Baffles? Hell, I almost forgot to ask," Nick said, looking up from his duty of dishing out some noodles, "What in the world was that in the autopsy room during shift? Robbins was still chuckling when I clocked out."

The smile on David's lips could only be described as one of pride. "That was Jacqui Franco at her most shrewd. Perhaps you noticed the look of absolute horror on Super Dave and Bobby's face?"

"It was hard to miss."

"That expression is Jacq's trademark. Anyone with that look spoke with, saw, or passed Jacqui on the street at some point in their life."

Nick hummed with amusement, trying not to snigger as David set out their silverware, talking openly. Nick knew David, like Greg, had the innate ability to talk without saying anything at all. (That is, of course, when he wasn't busy being sarcastic.) He had a tendency to burst into a story of some sort –something completely random about hamsters and lucky rabbit's feet- but not reveal a single personal detail about his life or past. Nick knew he would have to start paying attention and reading between the lines if he wanted to understand it all. The Texan wondered if he could be such a multi-tasker and then supposed he'd have to figure out how eventually. After all, he wanted to keep David around for a long time.

The meal was finally complete. David thanked him for it (and then sent him a glare _daring_ Nick to quip along the lines of, "Are you actually being _nice_?") before they dug in. The conversation that followed was easy, consisting of sarcasm in healthy doses and funny stories about the techs, including the one time Jacqui hid all of Greg's CDs and Greg, in retaliation, had denied her coffee. Nick knew the rest of his CSI pals would be startled to discover just how close the techs actually were. They went out together; movies, dinner, and bowling night, which was really in the afternoon. Ronnie's children called Jacqui 'Aunt' and David, Archie, Bobby, and Greg 'Uncle'. Jacqui even conned David into taking her to her gynecologist's appointment after her car broke down. It was these tales piled together that made Nick realize there was an entire culture that the CSIs were missing and he was all too happy to be a part of it.

"You know, this isn't half bad," David said, nodding towards his plate. "I didn't know you could cook."

"Grew up with six different women constantly pulling me around. I caught on to cooking pretty fast."

"Yeah, but Thai? I doubt green curry goes with steak and homemade pie," he replied, smiling as Nick shook his head at the intended cliché. "Not that I'm complaining, which I usually am. About everything. All the time."

"I kinda noticed the first day I met you."

"The first time you met me, you called me 'the trace guy' and tossed a pile of fibers my way before sprinting out the door."

"Oh, right. Can I chalk that night up to the crazy case I was working?"

"You can chalk it up to your mad attraction to me and being unable to spend more than sixty seconds in my presence lest you feel the need to throw me over the lab counter, but I won't believe you."

"So you wouldn't believe me if I said I was attracted to you the first time we met?"

"If 'attracted' is synonymous with 'loathed', then yes."

"Well, it wasn't _complete _hatred."

"Likewise."

"But…"

"It wasn't exactly angels singing and soul mate revelations either."

"Nope. You were just the trace guy."

"And you were just the hunky CSI with whom the trace guy had no chance."

Nick's look was incredulous. "You're kidding."

David shrugged, a humorous glint in his eye. "That's the joy of a theoretic conversation. You'll never really know."

"Dude, seriously. Tell me."

"Not even on my death bed."

"That's just cruel."

"All is fair in love and war."

"Don't think I won't retaliate. I'll… dunk your head in all that extra coconut milk I've got stored in the kitchen."

David snickered, placing his fork down and trying to cover his peels of laughter with his hand. Nick had to sit back and admire that; David laughed, sure, but to see it come so unselfconsciously was quite a sight to behold.

"Care to share the joke?"

"It's not a joke," David managed to reply. "It's just… the coconuts."

"The coconuts," Nick echoed, clearly puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"There's this scene in a movie…" David trailed off, uncertain whether to continue with his irrelevant tale or brush it off. In the end, he decided on a subtle mixture of both. "Every time someone mentions coconuts, Archie starts clapping his hands together and galloping around the room. It's from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. You'll have to see it one day." There was a pause before David arched an eyebrow, taking in Nick's blank expression with a hint of amusement. "Nick, you look confused. Did I use big words?"

Nick rolled his eyes but couldn't fight his smile. "I'm not confused, but I think I have that movie."

"You _think_?"

"Yeah, Greg gave it to me for Christmas. Says I have to see it."

"You haven't even _opened_ it?" David asked, as though scandalized. Who owned _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ but didn't watch it?

Nick shrugged. "Haven't gotten around to watching it yet," he replied, pausing in his explanation as he caught the shocked expression David was shooting him. "We can –uh- watch it now, if you want."

"Watch it now? We _have_ to watch it now. This movie is a lab rat classic. Between the five of us, we've seen it thirty-six times. As a matter of fact, it's my obligation to make you watch it."

"I guess that's why Greg gave it to me, right?"

"Despite past experiences, I've found that Greg has his bright moments. This just happens to be one of those rare times," David retorted as he rose and walked into Nick's living room, shuffled through the video shelf, and found the unopened DVD case. Meanwhile, Nick cleared off the table, their meal eaten (both had been hungry and gulped it down pretty fast, so their plates were practically clean already) before following David into the living room and stopping to watch him fight with the plastic.

David was never one to let an inanimate object get the better of him, so the plastic was off within the moment. He knelt in front of the television as he spoke.

"Besides, you have to see this movie if you want to be an honorary lab rat."

"Is that all I have to do? No hazing?"

David paused a moment. "We aren't big on the hazing, but there are a couple of tests you have to pass before you can be officially inducted."

"I already did the test, man. No more tests for me."

"That was the dating test, which isn't the same."

"Do you guys realize how screwed up you are?"

David grinned. "Absolutely. That's why only the stupidest or bravest dare to apply for an honorary position."

"Oh? And which am I?"

"I'd venture to guess both."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd be offended. How can I be brave _and_ stupid?"

"Easy. You're brave for getting involved in our group and you're pretty stupid for wanting to date me in the first place. You defy classification."

"That makes me feel _so_ much better."

David grinned again before joining Nick on the couch. Nick did a small victory in his dance when he saw that David was sitting next to him, not at the other end. "I wouldn't worry. I think you and Super Dave are the first and last honorary members anyway."

"And what about Greg? He's not a tech anymore."

"We consider Greg alumni," David easily replied. "As long as he brushes up on his secret passwords and handshakes, he's in. That's Archie's rule, of course. I was gung ho about kicking him out until I realized we might lose his coffee too."

"He makes excellent coffee," Nick agreed.

"It wasn't a risk we were willing to take," David informed, jumping past the previews with the remote control. "So Greg's still in as long as he has access to the goods."

"Man, you sound just like Warrick. A day without Greg's coffee and he's inoperable."

"Sounds like Greg himself. He's zombie-ish without caffeine. Barebone communication skills, pathetic attempts at sarcasm, lack of thought process." Beat. "Now that I think about it, I think he's caffeine deficient all the time."

Nick merely smiled as a comfortable silence set over them, both intent on watching the opening scene. The man came out and collected the dead and then, even better, King Arthur appeared as he traveled with his faithful coconut-beating companion. Nick now understood what Archie must have looked like now when he galloped around a room; once Nick had a visual, David explained it further and Nick suddenly wished Archie were there so he could see for himself.

It wasn't until King Arthur and the guards began to argue whether a swallow could carry a coconut that David sent Nick a sidelong look.

"I bet you know the answer to that question, bird geek."

"And the loving, tender affection keeps on coming."

"It's been called many things, but 'loving, tender affection' is a first."

Nick gave him a 'no surprise there' look before shaking his head, amused, and looping an arm around David, intent on the movie…

Until his fingers brushed David's jacket.

"Aren't you hot in that that?"

David tried not to show his discomfort by the question, his hopes of Nick not asking now dashed. He had been in such a rush to get away from the insane asylum (cleverly disguised as the second floor) that he didn't think to change his sweater, something Daphne claimed he actually looked good in. But if he looked like he was trying too hard then Nick might think… damn. This was all Jacqui's fault. She never should have bought it for him in the first place.

"People seem to think so."

Nick rolled his eyes at the bad joke before saying, "Seriously, do you have ice water for blood? It's a little warm in here, don't you think?"

"Feels fine to me."

"David…"

"I'm fine, really."

"David, you're being ridiculous. Unless you're shirtless under there or wearing one of Greg's bad t-shirts, then I don't see why you can't just take off the jacket."

"I'm not hot."

"I swear I'll turn on the heater full blast. Like- a hundred degrees."

"We live in the desert. If you want me to suffer, then just shove me outside."

David turned and met one of Nick's patented 'you can't bullshit me' looks. David had hoped that maybe he could get away with it, but he doubted Nick let anyone pull the wool over his eyes, not even the man he was dating. David inwardly cursed; he had already drawn so much attention to himself that Nick had moved from just wanting to make sure David was comfortable to becoming bitingly curious. Damn CSIs. Why couldn't Nick be someone from Laguana Beach? (Greg had introduced him to the brain-dead show. It made David worry about the future of America.) Those people didn't care about _anything._

Under the continuing force of the YCBM look, David rolled his eyes and reached for the zipper. "Good Lord, you win," he announced, sliding his arms from the sleeves. "Just don't look at me."

"What, the entire time you're here? That's gonna be kinda hard, don't you think?"

Nick had meant it jokingly (how were you supposed to have a guest and not look at them?) as he turned to see what David was so worried about.

A second later, he realized that David had the right idea.

It took one glance –one single glance- before Nick knew he was in trouble. David was wearing this black sweater thing and even though Nick didn't have a specific name for it, it still made him look utterly amazing. Nick quickly turned his head back to the movie. Don't get him wrong: the movie was funny and he could see why Greg and his friends liked it so much, but it was hard to concentrate when he was suddenly so turned on.

This called for drastic action.

"I better make sure I turned the oven off."

Nick didn't have time to dwell on how _lame_ that sounded; he was already half way to the kitchen anyway. He knew it probably seemed rude or just plain weird and he could feel David's confused gaze follow him out of the living room. He quickly began making noises in the kitchen, hoping it sounded like he was doing _something_ productive as opposed to hiding out, trying to escape the tortures of being a man. He and David hadn't had sex. Had barely _talked_ about sex. David even said he wanted to wait a while, and Nick could agree with that, but why did he have to make the wait so difficult? Why couldn't he wear some ratty old t-shirt instead? Along with other unattractive articles of clothing? Nick sighed. He could deal with it. He could deal with it because he liked David, respected him, wanted him to feel-

"Nick?"

Nick turned at the voice, suddenly noting that the television was no longer on and David was standing in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in dark jeans and the black sweater thing that was going to drive Nick crazy.

"Oh, hey, sorry," Nick began, feeling rushed somehow. "Didn't wanna burn the house down."

"Hm. You know, I seem to remember you turning the oven off before we ate."

"Did I? Guess I forgot."

"You also seem to forget I work with you CSIs. I've been programmed to sniff out the BS."

"Right." Nick didn't like where this conversation was going.

"So…" David trailed off, wandering into the kitchen as well, leaning against the refrigerator while Nick rested against the sink. "You want to tell me what kind of war you're having inside that pretty head of yours or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Sorry, let me rephrase that: tell me what's going on inside that pretty head of yours or I _will_ beat it out of you."

"Break out the caveman clubs, because I'm not telling you otherwise."

"Don't make me guess. I'll stand here all day, spouting out random speculations."

"Spout away."

"Fine, but you asked for it," David warned, wearing a smile that was an accumulation of smugness and uncertainty. "Guess number one: Did I say something wrong? Because you're going to have to be honest with me when I offend you, which might be on an hourly basis."

Nick blinked and quickly shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for David to think he had said something when, truthfully, he actually _hadn't_ stuck his foot in his mouth all day.

"Guess number two: Have a large amount of lab rat stories terrified you into silence?"

Nick smiled and shook his head again.

"Guess number three: In particular, was my detailed account of the horrific gynecologist office too much for you to handle?"

Nick laughed at that and shook his head for the third time; David hadn't spared a single fact when it came to that story, going on about how uncomfortable it was to be stuck watching Lifetime, reading outdated _Women's Day_ magazines, being surrounded by pregnant women, and then being mistaken for Jacqui's husband… _several_ times.

"You're killing me, Nick."

Nick sighed. He supposed that one of the quirks of working with CSIs was that said worker learned to unearth every single secret, no matter how small, seemingly insignificant, or embarrassing it was. "This is going to sound stupid."

"No more stupid than standing in the kitchen and trying to read your thoughts. Go ahead and spit it out."

The Texan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, opened his mouth to express his desires, and then closed it again. No way was he doing this… not even for David. They could stand there all day, but Nick just couldn't bring himself to say anything. He wondered if he could get away with a lie. He swiftly began going through a list of stale fibs, trying to remember which ones David had heard before. He was struck with how wrong it felt to lie to someone he cared for so much, especially if it was about their relationship. It was just sex, right? Nothing to be ashamed about, right? So why couldn't he bring himself to say anything? Was he afraid he'd run David off? Or appear too desperate? Or just look like a jackass?

"I can see the truthful approach isn't going to work, so let's deduce this scientifically," David said, interrupting Nick's speeding train of thought. "You didn't mute yourself until I shed the jacket, so I can only assume that something happened between then and now that I wasn't aware of."

"It wasn't anything you did. Well, it might have been, but it was me too. It's kinda the entire package."

"The entire package?"

"Yeah, the whole enchilada. You told me not to look, but I thought it was the craziest thing I ever heard, so I _did_ look."

"And?"

"And you make it complicated for a man to concentrate on anything else."

There was a silence before David's smile suddenly grew, realization dawning. Nick wanted him. Nick wanted _him_. Whether or not Nick knew it, David had been telling the truth when he said he was attracted to the Texan the first day they met. He had been so certain that there wasn't a possibility between them that the thought of this very moment actually happening gave David a good laugh over the years.

"Well, in that case," David replied, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips as he sauntered the few feet it took to reach Nick. "Why didn't you just say something?"

"Uh, I didn't want to look stupid?"

"It's a little late for that," David murmured, looping his arms around Nick's neck and pressing his body against the other man. "But I'm willing to overlook it if you're willing to just kiss me already."

Oh.

Well.

Nick could do that.

Their lips finally met in more than just a welcome brush; it was slow, languid, like molasses. Nick's arms wound around David's waist as he pulled him closer, sweeping his tongue over David's lips and silently begging for entrance. David responded quickly, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, not realizing that his initial hesitation from when they first began their relationship was gone. He trusted Nick to not hurt him. He'd always have his insecurities; he knew this, his friends knew it, and Nick probably knew it too, but for the most part, he was ready for whatever Nick had in mind.

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

David did a silent celebration. Nick had ragged breathing and disorientation. Who knew he could cause it?

"This is the kitchen."

"Um… yes it is."

"Kissing in a kitchen's fine, but anything else that follows would probably go better in another room. Preferably one with a bed."

"Oh," Nick managed to say, the words sounding breathless and unsteady. It was obvious he was trying to organize his thoughts. "I know you don't want to do anything until after more than just one date, and I totally get that, but-''

"Hell, don't listen to what I say," David replied, giving Nick a hard kiss. By doing so, he was distracting Nick, giving David the opportunity to lead them out of the kitchen, past the living room, and through the hallway. They only made it halfway through the foyer before David pushed Nick against the wall, putting more effort into the kiss than navigating the house.

"Not listen?" Nick gasped, breaking from the kiss. "That would be…"

"Exactly what I want."

"Ditto, but I don't want you to feel pressured or anything.''

David made a show of mulling this over as he took his thigh and casually pressed it against Nick's lower half. What he had hoped to find there was a sign that Nick wanted this just was much as he did; to his relief, his thigh came in contact with a bulge that showed just how much Nick reciprocated his feelings.

"Nick, have you ever known me to be pressured by any known entity on this planet?"

Nick let out a weak, strangled exhalation; it took a moment for him to register and then understand the question, but he finally found his reply. "No," he rasped, his mind barely on the conversation at hand. David applied some more gentle pressure against Nick's erection and casually began unbuttoning Nick's shirt, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He could only hope that Nick didn't feel the crazy beating of his heart, because David was more nervous than he had ever been in his entire life. His lead part in his fifth grade play, his first date, his interview for the position at the lab; it was elementary, because attempting to seduce Nick Stokes was like walking on a high wire. That is, utterly nerve wracking.

"Then we're clear?"

"Clear?" Nick echoed, barely able to keep his thoughts in order. David couldn't help but feel both flattered and a bit smug. He had never been able to turn someone on like this. "Oh, yeah. Um- totally clear."

"Good," David amiably replied, rather enjoying having Nick squirming under him. "Then we won't have a problem, right?"

He was halfway through with unbuttoning Nick's shirt; he had started at the top, and now that the neck was exposed, David took full advantage of the opportunity in front of him. He leaned forward and began kissing, licking, sucking Nick's neck, doing whatever would drag the most noise out the other man. Nick seemed to enjoy the section below his ear, so David concentrated his efforts there, content with the fact that he could make Nick breathe so heavily.

He finally finished with the buttons, peeling away the forest green shirt and throwing it onto the floor a few feet away. Nick made no complaints, which was good, because now David had to deal with the white t-shirt Nick had worn beneath it. Still, he didn't want to rush it. He moved back to Nick's lips, slowly slipping agile hands beneath the thin cotton t-shirt, content to just explore every inch of Nick's golden skin with his fingertips first.

David never really thought about it, but Nick often sported a 100 cotton look. Perhaps that was why every time David touched him, he fidgeted a bit and let out a series of delicious pants. David was certain he could make a recording of those pants and set it on repeat, content to listen to them for the rest of his days, but having the real thing was equally as satisfying. He could feel Nick become harder against his thigh and he furthered the pressure; not too hard, but enough to make Nick practically sag against the wall.

He had seen him shirtless before, but that was in the middle of the lab where anyone could walk in. He had been flustered and nervous and embarrassed, but this time it was different. It was just the two of them in a private place where David could admire Nick all he wanted.

He continued to kiss the man in front of him, running his hands up and down before the pads of his thumbs brushed the Texan's nipples. Nick, as if waking from a trance, sucked in a sharp breath before training an even gaze on David, his chest rising and falling with the difficult effort of breathing.

"I'm shirtless and you're not," he murmured, tugging at David's sweater impatiently. "We should remedy that."

David paused for only a moment, his expression one of uncertainty. He wasn't ashamed of his body or anything, but Nick was all sharp angles and ideal curvature. David wasn't. He bit his tongue. Nick had seen him shirtless before. What was David so nervous about? Jacqui even claimed it turned Nick on, which was what David wanted. Maybe he could pleasure Nick, make him so exhausted that he wouldn't even notice-

As if Nick could read his thoughts, he leaned in and kissed him, sliding his hands beneath the sweater before striping it away from David's body. The t-shirt quickly followed and David was suddenly dizzy by the skin-to-skin contact; his own breaths were sharper and his teasing was quickly becoming forgotten. It turned out that Nick knew a couple of tricks of his own, his fingers seeping beneath the waistband of David's jeans and David was embarrassed that he felt more like a teenager than the adult man he was.

"David, you should see how beautiful you are."

The words came from nowhere although they technically came from Nick's mouth; David opened his eyes and blue met brown.

"I don't know who you dated in L.A. or what he said to you," Nick whispered, punctuating his sentences with kisses on David's neck every few moments, "But I'm here to tell you that I think you're gorgeous. When I saw you in the locker rooms, I was so turned on that I had to get out of there or else you'd see."

David's heart palpitated at this confession and he tried to form words to reply –he honestly did- but he was so breathless from their activities and Nick's candid statement that he could only manage to let Nick take his hand, thread their fingers together, and quickly lead them towards the bedroom.

_I never saw it happening  
I'd given up and given in  
I just couldn't take the hurt again  
What a feeling. _

I didn't have the strength to fight  
Suddenly you seemed so right  
Me and you  
What a feeling.

What a feeling in my soul  
Love burns brighter than sunshine  
It's brighter than sunshine  
Let the rain fall, I don't care  
I'm yours and suddenly you're mine  
Suddenly you're mine.

_Brighter Than Sunshine_, Aqualung

TBC.


	14. Wherein A Picture Is Taken

A/T: Well… here it is: the very last chapter of _Snapshots_. This is the part where I confess how wonderful writing these boys has been, so prepare yourselves: I'm incredibly sentimental!

I just wanted to thank everyone who gave me support for this story, especially those who have told me that _Snapshots_ actually inspired _them_ to write about the techs or introduced them into the fandom or something equally as flattering. The thought of being an inspiration to even one person makes all thirteen chapters of this fic 100 percent worth it, and I couldn't wrap this up without telling you all. Thanks to all my LJ pals and to dhodges, the best group of people in the known Western world. Thank you for all the reviewers on and thank you to whoever wrote _4x4_, because if you didn't write the David/Nick scene about underage drinking, this fic might have never seen the light of day.

Also, I'd like to thank my parents, grandparents, mailman, fellow- wait, this isn't an awards show, you say? I should stop babbling, you say? _Well_. Rude much? Geez.

Disclaimer: This is the one part I won't miss. - I don't own _CSI_, never have, never will.

Snapshots  
Act 13: Wherein Smells Are Funky and A Picture Is Taken

"All right, boys," Jacqui began, sighing as she took her place next to the break room's refrigerator. "We all know what time it is."

There was a decidedly masculine groan in response, as was the custom. The woman quickly shushed them, waiting until David, Ronnie, Archie, and Bobby had settled down, ready for their monthly ritual. Because everyone else had neither the time nor the guts to clean out the fridge, the quintet had taken it upon themselves to rid it of its rotten contents. Bowls, covered plates, and brown paper bags containing various lunches were brought in by employees on a nightly basis, but were often left uneaten. Whether it was due to time constraints or forgetfulness, the techs didn't know. What they _did_ know, however, was the forgotten food could only remain there for so long before someone took action.

And Jacqui Franco was that someone.

"Let's get this over with," Bobby muttered, warily eyeing the large appliance. "I can smell something funky all the way over here."

Jacqui quirked an eyebrow as she theatrically opened the refrigerator door, stooping to get a sniff of the diverse offending odors that had been released. Such an act was also a custom; that is, trying to guess what hazardous materials the fridge contained using only their nose. It made things more interesting. Plus, they kept score, and whoever won was treated to a free Friday breakfast at Margo's.

"It smells like…" She trailed off, taking a moment to mull over the aberrant scent. "Broccoli and cheese. Sara brought it in two weeks ago."

"Smells more like that ham sandwich Warrick tossed in at the beginning of the month," Ronnie replied.

"My money's on the salad Catherine never eats. Rotten veggies are just as bad as anything else," Bobby declared before shooting David a silly grin. "What's your deduction, Mister Nose?"

The trace technician heaved a suffering sigh, glancing up from his newspaper. He had hoped that if he remained quiet and still, they would forget he was even there.

So much for small miracles.

"Will I ever live that down?" he asked, rolling his eyes and folding up his paper.

"Never," Archie replied, laughing as he took a bite of his sausage pizza. No matter what they unearthed, Archie was still able to consume his lunch without getting sick. "Your reputation precedes you. Now be a pal and give us an idea of what horrors we're dealing with."

David made a face but complied, joining Jacqui beside the ominous machine, following her previous action: he bent, inhaled deeply (only once; after all, he wasn't _suicidal_) and then took his seat again.

"Meatloaf," he answered, unhesitating. "With tomato sauce. And Ronnie's right. There's ham in there somewhere."

"No salad?" Bobby asked, unmistakably affronted. "I _clearly_ smell salad."

"Nope," David replied. "It's salad free."

"The stench of bad lettuce is unmistakable."

"Trust me, there isn't an-''

David was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and then four voices following. The group turned to see Nick, Greg, Warrick, and David Phillips enter; the three CSIs were immersed in what the coroner was saying, not even noticing the lab rats in the corner. As their talk went on, Jacqui exchanged a sidelong glance with her friends; did they pretend they were just rooting for their own lunch or continue on with their task? Well, it wasn't like their reputations were worth protecting; they had already been labeled as freaks long ago. If Nick and Warrick wanted to give them a hard time about their refrigerator duty, then it was their funeral.

"So there weren't any drugs in his system?" Greg asked, frowning as David idly tried to piece together the conversation. "How can someone consciously take a dive off the Mirage?"

"Pushed," Warrick answered. David rolled his eyes; what an _incredible_ conclusion by Mr. Brown. Yet another case closed!

"Yeah, but there weren't any signs of a struggle," Greg countered. Wait, what was this? Independent thought? It looked like the case _wasn't_ as solid as one would assume.

"Desperate people do desperate things," Nick replied. "We should check his bank statements and see how much he lost. When…" He trailed off before wrinkling his nose and glancing away from his fellow investigators, his eyes landing on the techs and the open refrigerator. David took one look at his face before exchanging a slightly concerned look with Archie: Uh oh. They had never lost a fellow employee to the monthly stenches, but any one of their new visitors might be a casualty.

"What's that smell?"

The other three followed Nick's line of sight, as if just noticing their audience. Great. Sitting in a room with glass walls, going through a demon refrigerator, and it _still_ took several minutes and the stink of rotting chow to get someone's attention.

"It's meatloaf," David replied, going back to his newspaper, hoping the conversation didn't last long. He had no inclination to explain what they were doing; it was long, complicated, and only reinstated that lab rats were strange creatures. "Old, by the odor of things."

"It's _salad_," Bobby countered. "I grew up on a farm. I know rancid veggies when I smell them."

"Well, _my_ mother worked at a diner. It's meatloaf."

"What do you think?" Ronnie asked, tossing the question to any one of their four new additions. Warrick's eyebrows nearly touched the ceiling at the inquiry.

"You want me to _smell_ in there?" he asked, incredulous. David had a retort at the tip of his tongue, ready for deployment, when David Phillips (never one to be squeamish) walked right over, bent to take a whiff, and then straightened himself back up again. David had to admire that; the man took apart corpses for a living, wiped brain off his shoes, and still had the stomach to inhale the stench of dead cow. If David weren't so head over heels for Nick, he might have had to start stealing Phillips from Bobby. Then again, wouldn't it be weird to date someone with the same first name as you? Huh. He'd have to ruminate over that later.

"Hints of Jello and ham," he announced. Well, they all knew about the ham; it was of the norm, because they _always_ found one of Warrick's ham sandwiches. The Jello, on the other hand, was a surprise. Greg, who had followed him, stuck his head into the large, cold box, took a deep breath, and then retracted himself.

"And salad," he added.

"_Ha!_" Bobby proclaimed. "You can't call me crazy now."

"Crazy? Of course not," David innocently replied. "Dumb, sure, but never _crazy_."

Jacqui turned towards the rectangular jail cell of spoiled food items; her eyes swept over the shelves as she silently tried to choose what appeared to be the most hazardous dish. After a quiet moment of thought, she grabbed the first thing she saw, marked 'Sara Sidle', and peeled off the plastic lid. Sure, they tried not to do this in front of the CSIs, but their lunch hour only had about twenty minutes left to go. Nick and Warrick could stay if they chose to, but either way, the cleaning was getting done.

"It's a healthy portion of broccoli and cheese," she announced, victorious as Ronnie sighed and put a check next to her name. She had, after all, guessed that broccoli and cheese would be in there. One point went to her.

"State of the cheese?" Archie asked, effortlessly swallowing the last few bites of his pizza.

"Partially solidified," she responded. A chorus of "out!" rose, Greg happily joining as Nick and Warrick exchanged bewildered glances. Who the hell _were_ these people?

"So you're the ones who clean out the fridge every month?" Warrick asked, a bit uncertain, choosing to stay back while David and Greg found themselves a seat to join in.

Greg grinned and nodded. "Sure. I used to help do this all the time."

"Before he became too important for us," Jacqui replied as she tossed out Sara's bad meal. "Besides, who do you think does this, a pack of magical fairies?"

"We're doing you all a public service," Archie added. "We like to consider this preventative maintenance."

"It keeps you guys from getting sick from the smell _and_ the food itself," Bobby helpfully supplied. "It's a win/win all around."

Jacqui pulled out a small paper bag from the depths of the second shelf. The name 'Judy' was written on the front in loopy letters.

"Oh, Judy," Jacqui sighed, shaking her head mournfully. "Not another tofu grilled cheese sandwich."

"Is it really?" Ronnie asked, clearly surprised. "How much tofu does that woman _eat_?"

"It would explain her healthy amount of energy," the printer master groused. She opened the bag and stuck her nose in before quickly drawing back.

"It's definitely not recent," she announced, tossing it into the garbage can next to her. "We're trashing it."

"What about that green bowl on the bottom shelf?" Archie asked. "That's been there since the end of last month."

Jacqui paused for a moment before peering at the ominous green bowl with a frown. It _had_ been there for a lengthy amount of time. Who knew what it contained? Salad? Meatloaf? One of Grissom's blood experiments? A body part? She reached for the dish, hesitating only twice, before pulling it out and slowly tearing off the aluminum foil that covered the top. She glanced inside before making a face.

"It's a yellow square," she stated.

"No way," Greg said, shooting up from his chair. "Is that my egg loaf?"

"Your _what_?" Bobby echoed.

"Egg loaf. It's delicious," Greg replied, taking the dish from Jacqui's grasp.

"But it's old," Nick noted, blanching as Greg took a confident bite. Even Archie, who had a stainless steel stomach, looked horrified.

"Only by a couple of weeks," the blonde replied, shrugging. "It doesn't go bad."

"Sanders, anything edible eventually expires. Give me the loaf before you hurt yourself," David demanded, holding out his hand. "That's disgusting, even by your standards."

"It's fine," Greg insisted, swallowing his latest mouthful.

"You realize that Ryan won't ever kiss you again should he somehow discover you consumed aged dairy product?"

"No way. What man can resist lips like these?" Greg asked, playfully puckering up.

"You're looking at him," David retorted, snatching away Greg's bowl. "I'll be the guy laughing his ass off when you're losing your gut to food poisoning."

"Sweet words."

"What can I say? I'm a sweet guy," came the dry reply as he tossed the egg loaf into the trashcan and then handed the container back to the young CSI. "Preventative maintenance and all."

"Fine, fine. I won't eat anything else until you give it your patented seal of approval."

"Good boy."

"You know, speaking of Ryan," Greg continued, grinning widely as he spoke, "Guess who's coming to visit next week?"

"Is he sweet, good looking, and charming?" Jacqui asked, punctuating her description with a sigh. "You have _no_ idea how much I hate you."

"Aw. _Hate_. That's-''

"Not strong enough of a term," she interjected. "Loathe? Despise? Detest?"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Ryan's mine. Lay off, sister."

"And he's coming down here?" Ronnie asked, ignoring their war of words as he often did. Greg blushed and nodded, dipping his hand into his coat pocket.

"Long distance can only works so well, and I think he'd like Vegas. Anyway, I want to send him a picture to prepare him."

"A picture? Right now? Greg, we're cleaning out the fridge. It won't make the greatest first impress- oo, guess what I found?" Jacqui said, cutting herself off with a completely different question. Their attention was diverted to the small Glad bag she triumphantly held.

"The ham sandwich!" Archie exclaimed. Nick and Warrick exchanged another bemused look. It was a sandwich, not the Holy Grail. What was the big deal? "We're getting so good at this that it scares me."

"Dude, you aren't the only one who's scared," Warrick retorted. Archie lifted an eyebrow in response.

"I beg your pardon? Whose sandwich do you think that belongs to? Don't think we aren't onto you, Mister Brown. And hey, point to Ronnie."

"I can't believe you date these people," Warrick muttered, sending Nick an exasperated look before shaking his head and grabbing the last available seat. Next to him, Ronnie put a check next to his own name and Nick couldn't help but smile.

"My guy's normal, considering the rest of them. What can I say? I got lucky."

"How lucky?" Warrick inquired. Nick choked on his own tongue and spun around, heading for the coffee maker while David sank into his seat, praying the sports section would hide his blush. Where had that question _come_ from? Had Warrick been spending time with Greg and Jacqui again?

Around him, silence reigned.

A moment passed.

Bobby let out a squeak.

Archie's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

Ronnie's expression was priceless.

Jacqui set down another mysterious paper bag and slowly approached David. If possible, he sank lower.

"My, my, my. What an _excellent_ question, Mister Brown. Exactly how lucky is our darling David?"

David had been in situations like these where he actually feared for his life, but this particular moment seemed even more threatening. Jacqui was approaching like a hungry fox would a baby rabbit. David concentrated on the words he had been trying to read for the past ten minutes. Did you know the Pittsburgh Steelers won the Super Bowl? He didn't; then again, he hadn't cared at the time. Now it was the most important event of his life.

"Did you, David Hodges, sleep with Nick Stokes? And didn't tell us?" she asked, her voice tinted with accusation.

"If I said no, would you believe me?"

"You got some?" Greg asked, scandalized as he turned towards Nick, "And refrained from giving details?"

"It's not something decent human beings broadcast, Sanders," David replied, wondering how long a newspaper could hold up against Jacqui's laser beam eyes.

"Yeah, but these aren't _any_ two people," the blonde replied. "This is- I mean, it's _you._ This is monumental. Phenomenal! Does Daphne know?"

David jerked down the paper within milliseconds of Greg's question, instantly alarmed. He was even more alarmed when he found himself three inches from Jacqui's suspicious gaze; he gave a small jump, unaware she had advanced so closely, before pushing his chair back in an attempt to create some much needed space.

"Woman, give me some breathing room," he ordered, scooting back even further. She merely followed, acting as though David hadn't spoken. "And if you call Daphne, I swear I'll rip you from limb to limb, sparing no appendage. Got it?"

"So you admit to it!" Archie crowed.

"No, but Daph gets ideas in her head and won't let them die. Can't you save me the trouble?"

"Sure," Bobby chanted, a large grin adorning his face. "So _you_ say. What about Nick? We'll get the truth from one of you."

"Doesn't anyone here have any manners?" David muttered, wishing the ground would suddenly develop an appetite and swallow him whole. Greg and Archie exchanged looks before turning back to David and bursting into peals of laughter. David supposed it was a pointless question; they wouldn't know manners if it walked up and tried to sell them insurance.

"Nicky? Is it true?" Greg asked, eyebrows high. Nick didn't respond, merely continued making his coffee. Greg was so immersed in discovering the truth that he didn't notice it was _his _precious stash that Nick was breaking into. As a matter of fact, the only thing Greg could concentrate on was the crimson blush Nick was sporting. It spoke for him, revealing his and David's activities from the morning of their date.

Another silence descended upon them until Warrick emitted a shocked noise from the back of his throat. "Nick, man, you and…?"

"I'm still in the room," David said, casting Warrick a dirty look. "Not that our lives are any of your business."

"We know," Jacqui hurriedly replied. "We just don't care. Anyway, back to you and Nick. What was it like?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?"

"When is she not serious about things like this?" Ronnie asked. David paused, because his friend had a point. Sure, he knew they'd ask eventually, but why now? Nick was standing twelve feet away and David didn't have an escape route. He supposed he could finally put his 'climb on top of the vending machines/bust through the ceiling/crawl through the air ducts/get to the roof/scale the front wall of the lab building/make a dash for the car/start driving to Florida' plan into action, but it seemed rather complex in comparison to his situation.

"I'm not telling you."

"What? You're denying us these few precious details?"

"Few precious details? Jacq, they're important parts of my life, not expendable _details_."

"We know. We just don't care," she repeated. "Spill!"

"You realize Nick's here, right?" Greg asked. "I mean, David's not going to reveal a single thing if the love of his life's listening in."

"Dude, I have no intention of leaving. I want to hear what he has to say too," Nick replied, smiling over his mug of coffee.

"Traitor," David muttered, unable to stop his small smile when he heard Nick laugh. Jacqui gave a knowing 'hm' before crossing her arms over her chest. His elaborate getaway scheme was looking more and more tempting every passing second. He heard Florida was nice this time of year, if one could ignore the hurricanes.

"So? We need specifics! Was it hot? Romantic? Terrible? Give a girl something to think about."

"Something to…? Jacq, I'm not feeding your perverse mind."

"Oh, c'mon. Can't you just hint with some keywords or something?"

"Fine. It was… fine. Now take some deep breaths and calm down."

"Fine?" Ronnie echoed, obviously not believing a word of it. "This calls for the DHT."

"The what?" Warrick asked, puzzled. If anything, this was his crash course into technician culture. It was coming in unhealthy doses, of course, but rumor was Warrick had a great immune system. The techs weren't worried.

"David Hodges Translator," Archie replied, as though the term was common knowledge. "Only the chosen few are born with it. For example, David just said sex with Nick is 'fine'."

"But 'fine' in David's terms isn't the same as 'fine' with everyone else. For example, David once called Ms. Rainey's brownies 'okay'," Bobby continued.

"Miss Who?"

"You don't know her, but she kills at baking. Anyway, when David said 'okay', he meant 'delicious beyond human comprehension'."

"So when he said sleeping with Nick was 'fine', what he really meant was 'I didn't want to get out of bed for a week afterwards.' See how it works?"

"Huh. Interesting," Warrick replied. "That's… interesting."

"That's it, I'm leaving," David announced, standing up and tossing the paper onto the table. "This is ridiculous. And embarrassing. And TMI."

"But we haven't found the meatloaf," Bobby objected. "Besides, we still have ten minutes of break. You can't leave yet."

"Watch me."

"What about my picture?" Greg asked

"I'm not stopping you from taking a picture. I am, however, forbidding you from ever using a camera after tonight."

"Agreed. And for those who have the Greg Sanders Translator, 'agreed' really means 'no way.' Warrick, would you do the honors?" Greg asked, tossing the camera towards the older CSI. Warrick made a sound as he caught it before casting Greg an odd look. With a shrug, he lumbered towards the door and then turned towards them while Jacqui temporarily abandoned her task of saving the entire lab from food poisoning and joined them.

They gathered around their table, trying to scrunch together. David, Jacqui, and Greg stood in the back while the others clustered in their chairs. Warrick put his eye to the viewfinder, took a few steps back to compensate for their large group, but shook his head after a moment.

"You guys better get like sardines or Ryan's only gonna meet Archie's left arm and Ronnie's foot."

Greg snickered but they rose and rearranged themselves nonetheless. Jacqui sat next to Ronnie who sat next to Bobby; David Phillips stood next to him while Archie balanced on top of the table. Greg stood on the other side while David hung out in the back, inching towards the right in hopes that he could hide behind Super Dave.

Warrick nodded his approval before putting the camera back up to his eye, ready to get it over with (David was grateful; he wasn't big on pictures) when Greg started and asked, "What about Nick?"

Nick, who had been standing patiently next to Warrick, held up his hand.

"Dude, this is a lab rat thing. I'm a mighty and powerful CSI, remember?"

"Maybe in your dreams," Jacqui scoffed. Who did Nick think he was fooling? "There's room for one more, so get over here."

Nick grinned, knowing it was fruitless endeavor to try and deny both Greg _and_ Jacqui. He stepped forward, but instead of taking the offered space between Archie and Greg, he made a beeline to the back.

David knew Nick probably wanted to stand next to him, which was so like Nick; what he _didn't_ expect was for him to pull David back to the middle instead of his shadowed corner. It was even more surprising for the Texan to wind his arms around David's waist, rest his chin on David's left shoulder, and break into a calm, charming smile.

David tried to fight off the blush that was creeping across his face, because 1) he could practically hear the perverse joke Greg was sure to crack and 2) he never guessed Nick would make such a bold statement. However, no one said anything embarrassing and David's hands reached up to rest on top of Nick's.

"Perfect," Warrick announced, and David couldn't help but silently agree. "Ready when you are."

"All right. Everyone say 'broccoli and solidified cheeeeese,'" Jacqui chimed. The group echoed the phrase, prolonging the 'e' in 'cheese', and David was suddenly struck with the feeling of… well, it was hard to describe. 'Happiness' wasn't quite right, although there was a lot of that in there. 'Contentment' didn't quite work either.

Thankfulness.

_That_ was it.

He was thankful for tubas and chick flicks, banana cakes and secret iPods, trash bags and carrot juice, Ella Fitzgerald and Hershey wrappers. As crazy as it seemed, he loved panty hose, Star Trek cups, Tabasco sauce, silver nitrate, and goats. He was grateful for alien theorists, plumbing services, and ghost hunters.

But more than anything, he was appreciative of those around him, for friends who loved him and for a boyfriend who loved him even more.

"What are you thinking about?" Nick whispered, lacing their fingers together.

David wanted to say he was thinking about the life he led in L.A. as compared to what he had now. He wanted to explain that he had a lot of problems and insecurities to deal with. He wanted to thank Nick for being patient. He wanted to express what Jacqui, Ronnie, Archie, Bobby, and Greg meant to him.

Even though he never once stated those sentiments with words, they somehow understood his feelings anyway. He was cold when they all first met, insensitive, scarred from his life in L.A., but they never gave up on him. And now? Now they would do anything for each other. That's just the way it was.

David merely smiled as the camera whirred; his hands tightened around Nick's and the flash filled the room with a quick, white light.

_You were full and fully capable  
you were self-sufficient and needless  
your house was fully decorated in that sense. _

You were taken with me to a point  
a case of careful what you wish for  
but what you knew was enough to begin.

And so you called and courted fiercely  
so you reached out, entirely fearless  
and yet you knew of reservation and how it serves.

And I salute you for your courage  
and I applaud your perseverance  
and I embrace you for your faith in the face of adversarial forces  
that I represent.

So you were in but not entirely  
you were up for this but not totally  
you knew how arms length-ing can maintain doubt.

And so you fell and you're intact  
so you dove in and you're still breathing  
so you jumped and you're still flying if not shocked.

And I support you in your trusting  
and I commend you for your wisdom  
and I'm amazed by your surrender in the face of threatening forces  
that I represent.

You found creative ways to distance  
you hid away from much through humor  
your choice of armor was your intellect.

And so you felt and you're still here  
and so you died and you're still standing  
and so you softened and you're still safely in command.

Self-protection was in times of true danger  
your best defense to mistrust and be wary  
surrendering a feat of unequalled measure  
and I'm thrilled to let you in  
overjoyed to be let in in kind.

_Surrendering, _Alanis Morissette

FIN.

Spread the lab rat love wherever you can!


End file.
